Lucien's Shadow
by dreamysherry
Summary: Bellamont’s plot for revenge gets complicated when a mage by the name of Arabella hankers after Lucien Lachance. Chapter 23 will be posted again after being rewritten.
1. Chapter 1

Bellamont's plot for revenge gets complicated when a mage by the name of Arabella hankers after Lucien Lachance.

Disclaimer: I do not own Oblivion and its characters.

* * *

Chapter One

Arabella's long white fingers reach out hesitantly before stopping short of the pale cheeks of the Imperial who is sleeping soundly. It is the first night that she observes him enjoying trouble-free slumber. She feels fatigued, an after-effect of abusing the invisibility spell and lack of sleep for the past ten days. She knows she should stop this madness at once. He will be the death of her if she cannot free herself from this unhealthy obsession. She needs to get her attention back to the Speaker of Anvil, to ensure that he will not make any stupid moves in his eagerness to avenge his mother's death. _He is quite insane despite his intelligence_. She thinks with a frown, being doubtful of the wisdom in the alliance between the unstable Breton and the Imperial Legion. She cannot, however, resist the temptation to have another close look at the face of a man who has been distracting her from her job. She doesn't want to waist the moonlight that floods through the narrow window. It pleasingly shines over an angular face, fine nose and sensual lips.

_Such a beautiful face for a killer_. But it is not his clean, chiselled features that fascinate her. It is the characteristics that he has developed for himself, so unlike any other Imperial. He moves with a grace that a Khajiit would envy. His magical ability is the highest among the Black Hand, surpassing even that of Arquen. The impassive look he presents to the world convinces her that he does not share the common weakness of a male Imperial. He has abundance of will power in his lithe frame. It is such a shame that Bellamont is so good at what he is doing. Her heart sinks at the thought of the fate that awaits him. She has heard how the Dark Brotherhood treats its traitors. This fight Lucien cannot win because he is devoted to the guild while Bellamont possesses no such weakness. She sighs and decides to turn away from the peaceful sleeping form. She will have to get some rest herself.

A soft, low laughter fills the air, interrupting her plan to depart the creepy Fort which Lucien transformed into his own sanctuary.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Ah, the sleeping beauty is finally awake," she replies calmly, even as she realises with grimace that she is paralysed below her head. _So, he wants to talk._ She curses herself silently for having been caught out carelessly, but will not show her apprehension.

Penetrating eyes scan over her form. With her clear, milky skin and well-defined features, she is pleasing to look at. Long black eyelashes and shoulder-length curly locks create an impression of softness about her. _An Imperial with a hint of Breton heritage._ He observes.

"The beauty was never asleep," he replies smilingly. "You are obviously a mage of high calibre, but have lately abused your magicka to a considerable degree. And all that to follow me around like a lost puppy."

"You knew I was following you. How?" Arabella's eyes widen in surprise. No one has ever sensed her presence during the period of the invisibility spell. She is not an average mage. Then again, he is not an average assassin.

"As much as I would like to continue our small talk, I know you are probably working on wearing off the spell you are trapped in even as we speak. I had to patiently wait for ten long days before meeting you face-to-face. What interest does the mage guild take in the business of the Dark Brotherhood?"

"You set up a trap for me. You waited till I became weak," she reflects dismally.

A cold blade lightly touches her throat. The eyes that stare into hers are dark and dangerous. "I would appreciate it if you just answer my questions. There will be time for friendly chats later if you do not cross me."

"Would you believe me, had I told you that I followed you around out of curiosity? An Imperial that reaches the core of any association, even that of assassins, impresses me." Arabella settles for the closest truth. Lucien shakes his head and murmurs reflectively, "You are not lying, but you have not answered my question."

He smiles slightly, his eyes still precariously cold despite a glimpse of amusement, before continuing. "I will have to rephrase it. Why did the mage faction send you to spy on us?"

Arabella tries her best smile and finds it disheartening that he does not smile back. Her smile, however, produces a brief reward. Cold lips brush lightly on her ear lobe. "Speak." An involuntary sigh, an expression of inappropriate longing, escapes her lips, even as she knows her life is in mortal danger. The corner of his lips curls up slightly, the only indication to show his understanding that he has a hold over her heart.

"The Dark Brotherhood is renowned for making powerful enemies. It is, however, not the mage guild you need to worry about. The association appreciates the usefulness of your reckless organisation in keeping Morag Tong on check. They have not sent me. I am a freelancer."

"Much better," Lucien says approvingly, his eyes softening ever so slightly. He begins to like the girl, rather respects her. He cannot detect any fear in her eyes. "Now, who is your client?"

"You think I will dishonour my contract?"

The answer is not unexpected. He smiles at her, almost warmly. His gaze, nevertheless, soon turns hard. He has a job to do. She may just provide a solution to the recent troubles that have been plaguing the Brotherhood and threatening his position as a revered Speaker.

"You look as though you could do with sleep."

His voice is unbearably soft, caressing her tired body. Drowsiness follows and begins to spread inside, beckoning her into giving up her fight to stay awake. There is a tingling sensation in her finger tips. Her body is slowly recovering from the self-inflicted misuse of her magical energy. Soon, she should be able to break the paralysis spell, if only she could resist falling asleep. It is, however, not her willpower but his words that prevent her from losing consciousness.

"I wonder how your client will take the news that you have been captured by the enemy he seeks to destroy. I will let the Black Hand decide your fate."

Panic strikes her hard, and she fails miserably in her attempt to keep her voice steady. She needs to convince him and fast. She winces at the tone of desperation in her protest. "No, you cannot do that."

"Go on," he whispers lovingly. "Make a proposal that could tempt me. Your life depends on it."

Her eyelids start to feel heavy once again. Time is running out for her.

"Name your price," she says resignedly. The battle is lost, and the irony is that she is better off for it.

"Your undivided loyalty … to me."

"Free me from my contract. I will serve you with my life. Not Sithis, Not your Unholy Matron, and Not the Brotherhood. Just you."

Lucien holds her chin with his palm and regards her silently. There is a clear sense of relief in her sleepy eyes. She will be reliable.

"Give me your name," he says, unceremoniously releasing her from the spell that rendered her immobile.

"Arabella Esposto," she murmurs dreamily, before collapsing into his arms.

He lays her on his bed. He needs her to be strong once again, and for that, he will let her sleep where she lay.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Vicente Valtieri pours himself a glass of wine, feeling a sense of uneasiness and nervous tension in the air of the normally carefree Cheydinhal Sanctuary. As the liquid cools his dry throat, there is a welcome change in the heavy atmosphere. A quiet excitement spreads among his family members. He lights a couple of candles in his room, normally the darkest in the sanctuary, quite a contrast to that of Ocheeva, who loves her lighting and administrative work. His quarter, however, has one similarity to that of the sanctuary mistress. It is clean and tidy. It is also well furnished and tastefully decorated, despite its small size. Vicente enjoys the comfort of life in his spare time and keeps the finest quality wine in his cellar. With a quiet smile, he pours the precious liquid into another glass and seats himself comfortably in his lavish coach. He is ready for a guest.

After a while, Vicente rises, his eyes glowing warm at the sight of the visitor. "Lucien."

The figure almost indistinguishable from the darkness that surrounds him pulls down his hood, revealing his complete face in the dim candle light. Vicente is the only one in the sanctuary who has seen such a rare sight, and that thought brings a smile upon his ageless countenance.

"Tell me about the latest casualty," Lucien enquires, keeping his tone even.

"Maria. She is missing for two weeks now," Vicente replies in a hushed tone. "Ocheeva suspects that she has a lover outside the sanctuary. She could have been marked as a runaway but it is not the right time to indulge such a happy hypothesis. I believe our clever friend has struck again."

Lucien grimaces at the thought of the inevitable, and finds Vicente's sympathetic eyes staring into his.

"I will not blame you for whatever the Black Hand decides," the older man whispers soothingly. "I have lived too long to care for my own life. And for the others, we all know assassins do not usually enjoy a long life span."

Lucien wants to reassure the wise vampire that things will not come to that, but knows it is pointless to lie to the one who is so familiar with the ways of the Brotherhood. He settles for briefly placing his hand over the square shoulder of his former teacher and friend. Times like this, Lucien wishes Vicente had accepted an offer of promotion into the Black Hand. The vampire's strange lack of ambition along with his desire to closely interact with the sanctuary members has prevented such an eventuality. As a result, Lucien finds himself having to constantly argue against the joined force of Arquen and Bellamont, Ungolim almost always favoring the two.

"Do you know by chance whether Adamus Phillida has a living relative?" The Imperial asks, mindlessly sipping the red liquid Vincent proudly offered.

Vicente's eyes narrow at the question. _Ah, the Black Hand finally realizes the reckless nature of the decision to get the retired officer assassinated._ He thinks with an imperceptible smile.

"Phillida had a daughter who is married to Ulrich Leland, the Captain of the Cheydinhal city guard. Rumors have it that Ulrich is still happily married but under constant pressure from his wife that her father's killer should be brought to justice. He is rather unpopular with the citizens of Cheydinhal, thanks to his rather heavy handed approach to law enforcement. I figure that he has every motive to avenge his father-in-law's death. It will turn him into a hero overnight."

"Most interesting," Lucien muses quietly, his fingers fondly caressing the tilt of his sword. Although he will be seeking the approval of the Night Mother over his intentions concerning the fate of Ulrich and his little captive, his gut feeling tells him that he will be shortly collecting a soul for Sithis. His heart races with the anticipation for the hunt and kill. Such a shame that he will be using poison instead of his beloved blade. He has to make the death look natural since he cannot involve the Black Hand in his plan.

The glint in Lucien's normally cold, expressionless eyes is not lost on Vicente. He knows he has provided the Speaker with a vital piece of information. He does not, however, enquire about how Lucien is going to utilize it. He is wise enough not to meddle with what could be a business of the Black Hand. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"Yes, keep all the members inside the sanctuary for a while till I figure out a way of catching out our clever friend," Lucien replies thoughtfully. He needs time to think through his next move after dealing with Ulrich. He does not know how long he can prevent the inevitable from happening. But at least, there will be no more deaths within his sanctuary for a while. This will decrease the urgency of dealing with the problem, thereby giving him much needed time.

Vicente nods in understanding. "I will train them hard for sure."

"How is Antoinetta doing?" Lucien inquires, glad to move on to the lighter subject.

"Almost perfect. She is such a talented girl. Her use of magic has shown remarkable progress but for the area of illusion. Even the simple chameleon spell here seems to be a hard challenge for her." The Vampire produces a low chuckle at the image of the blond girl pursing her lips in a spoiled child-like manner. "Would you do me a favor, Lucien?"

"With pleasure." The Speaker does not ask what the favor is. He knows Vicente will not request anything inappropriate.

"She doesn't like me very much since I told her to keep her feelings towards you to herself. She's been lately using garlic in her cooking, claiming that it will make me immune to the effects of that cursed poison. I feel like killing her with my bare hands at times. One word from you, and she will stop the childish attempt for revenge."

Lucien breaks into hearty laughter. Arabella isn't the only one who has been obsessing over him. How could he forget the lovable little Antoinetta? She will make a devoted Silencer for sure. But he will have to be careful about conducting himself around her. He understands how sweet adoration and attraction can turn into bitter anguish and despondency. Antoinetta is not the type of girl who can take rejection unscathed; she is not someone who can comprehend the fact that Lucien Lachance cannot love.

"I promise I will have a quiet little word with her when I visit the sanctuary next time," Lucien says reassuringly, his voice still containing a trace of amusement. "Now I must take my leave."

"You will be visiting us soon?" Vicente asks hopefully. "Your presence calms the fear and apprehension among our family."

"Don't worry," Lucien answers him, heading to the door, hoping that he can keep his word. "In the name of Chaos, I will not let Antoinetta poison you to oblivion."

Vicente returns to his comfortable seating place. He thinks reflectively. _In the name of Sithis, if anyone can save this sanctuary, it is you, Lucien Lachance._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

After sleeping for three nights and three days, Arabella wakes in the late evening and finds Lucien looking down on her. Seeing his incomprehensible smile, she answers him with her own smile as though it is the most natural thing in the world. And for a short blissful moment, it feels that way. Slowly, she grasps the reality of her situation and lifts herself up into a sitting position. It makes her blush to think that she was lying helplessly in his bed, wrapped in his blankets.

"You are free from your contract with Ulrich Leland," he informs her, a slight smugness playing on his lips. "Sithis is most pleased with his soul."

Arabella gapes in confusion. _How did he find out so quickly that Ulrich had contracted my service?_ Then, another question bothers her. "How long have I been sleeping?" she asks rather accusingly. She hates the idea of having swallowed an unknown potion during sleep even though there are no apparent side-effects.

Dark blue eyes stare challengingly into a pair of brown orbs. Lucien simply glares at her disapprovingly. Quickly, she looks away, cheeks burning with shame. She remembers that she condemned herself to a lifetime of servitude mainly out of desperation. What puts her to disgrace, however, is the fact that she is not unhappy with her fate, so eager to help him to escape the certain unpleasant death he is heading towards.

"You will remember your place," he makes his point before confirming her suspicion. "Long enough to obtain the approval of our Unholy Matron over my plans and free your ex-client's soul from his body."

Arabella scoffs silently. The ways of the Night Mother and Sithis do not impress her. "Why didn't you simply ask her who my client was? Or who is the traitor amongst you, for that matter?"

Lucien casts a questioning glance towards her but keeps his thoughts to himself for now. _You knew we had a traitor in our midst?_

"We are her children, not her puppets," he replies faithfully, though somewhat dogmatically, even though the same questions have plagued his mind. "She provides us with simple guidance, no more. That way, only the truly strong among us will reach the top." _And we somehow ended up with the fool Ungolim as the Listener_, Lucien thinks bitterly.

He notices her sceptical look but chooses to ignore it. _She is not here to be converted into the Brotherhood,_ he reminds himself. _It is better for me to have exclusive possession of her loyalty, especially at times like this, times when I cannot trust even the Black Hand_. His mind drifts to recent troubles in the Brotherhood. It is certain that the assassin among assassins is familiar with the location and business of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. The traitor could be one of its members. But a possibility remains that she or he is a part of the Black Hand who used to live there. If it is the latter case, Lucien himself is likely to be the real target, and purifying his sanctuary would only serve the traitor's interests. The Black Hand, however, will demand this course of action first. He needs to find the real culprit before that.

Seeing his concentrated, troubled look, Arabella leaves the bed and kneels down in front of him. Her heart aches for him, and a protective instinct overwhelms her. "I am ready to serve you," she declares, after taking hold of his hand and reverently brushing her lips across the precious object.

A sudden surge of warmth catches Lucien unguarded, and he finds himself smiling openly. He does not welcome the emotion enough to wonder when was the last time he felt like that, if ever. He does not, however, object to it, and lets her appreciate the brief changes in his countenance. He pulls her to her feet and gestures her to the wooden table in the corner of the room. She takes a seat, and watches him. An oil lamp burns bright in the centre of the square table, giving it a kind of homely look.

"Have you consulted the Unholy Matron concerning your plan for me?" she begins the conversation, wanting to know how precarious her situation really is and how much she can reveal without jeopardising her life.

"That was one of the things for which I sought her sanction," he replies reassuringly.

He cannot tell how much she knows about the secrets of the Brotherhood. Probably too much. She should have been killed for that reason alone, had the situation not been so exceptional. Perhaps the unusual circumstances explain the strange attentiveness of the Night Mother on his visit. He did not expect to get more than a simple blessing over his plans, without it he would have risked breaking one of the Five Tenets. Only Listeners had that privilege of hearing more than a few words from their spiritual leader. _Keep her well and make her completely yours, _she advised him. _She will do a great service to you and, through it, to me._

"The Night Mother has allowed you to be my Silencer without your commitment to the Brotherhood. It is a most unusual arrangement, but the circumstances warrant it. Your knowledge of our business will not put you on our list of elimination, provided that you will honour your lifetime contract with me."

"Silencer?" she gasps, earning a slight frown from Lucien. She does not like the sound of it. She doesn't know the exact meaning of the word, but can have a pretty good idea. Had she known what this silly infatuation would lead to, she would never have started it. But there is no magic that can turn the clock back. Contract or no contract, it is already too late to deny him anything.

"You will kill for me if necessary," he responds, his tone low and uncompromising. "Don't worry. You won't be the only Silencer of mine. I have many in my sanctuary who will be more than pleased to be given such an honour."

Arabella nods meekly and reveals the information he has been waiting for. "My previous contract required me to follow a certain member of the Brotherhood. Initially, it was to determine whether the information he had promised to deliver could be trusted. You see, it could easily have been a trap or a hoax. When I reported back my findings, Leland decided that the said man was rather unpredictable despite his seemingly genuine intention to impair the Brotherhood." She pauses briefly before continuing, to shake off the memory of the hellish scene that she witnessed. She wonders how long she will remember the sickening stench in that lighthouse. "My ex-client asked me to watch the assassin closely and capture him alive if there was any sign that he might fail to deliver a list."

She sighs deeply and takes a moment to consider his reaction, or rather the lack of it. It is hard to tell what he is feeling. The enormity of the revelation does not seem to unsettle him. She can, however, sense a quick, intelligent mind rapidly processing and assessing the information behind the cool, indecipherable countenance.

"A list?" Lucien brings her attention back to the current topic.

"The location of every sanctuary and the addresses of all the Black Hand members. Leland's objective was to get hold of the list at the earliest opportunity, but his would-be informant was resolute that the list should be delivered only after settling his personal score with an elite member of your guild."

"Personal score?"

"Twenty Years ago, an assassin from the Cheydinhal Sanctuary murdered a woman in her sleep. But Sithis was not the only witness of the killing. There was a boy beneath the bed who saw everything. He has been plotting his revenge ever since. Unfortunately, the Brotherhood not only recruited him into the guild but also promoted him into the Black Hand."

"The name of the scheming rat?" he asks, even though he can only think of one Speaker who is young enough to fit the description. "And how did you find out about all this?"

"Mathieu Bellamont," she says, almost too quickly, as though spitting out poison. The relief she feels afterwards, however, becomes slowly replaced by dread and loathing as she continues to enlighten Lucien. "He keeps a diary in which I found out your name and residence… I was merely curious in the beginning about his intended victim. Bellamont lives with putrefied corpses to remind himself of why he should continue his wretched existence. I have watched him writing on the walls with the blood of his latest victim that Lucien Lachance must die. He will not rest until you are gone and the Brotherhood along with you… He does not wish you just any death; he wants you to have a traitor's end. You have destroyed the only thing that mattered to him, and he wants you to be destroyed by the only thing that you care for."

Lucien's dark eyes stare into space. He seeks solitude because his mind is full of emotions that he does not care to share. He is quite still, as though he stopped breathing. Arabella waits silently, admiring the calmness of his posture. She cannot begin to imagine what he must be feeling inside. Finally, he comes out of his reverie and rises from his chair. Anvil is a long way, too long even for his beloved Shadowmere, the fastest horse in the whole of Cyrodiil. He will not be able to find solid evidence for the treachery before the Bland Hand meeting. He walks to a nearby cabinet, to take out a shrouded hood and light armour.

"A gift from the Night Mother," he murmurs softly, brushing her cheek lightly with his free hand. "Change into these. We are heading for Skingrad."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Where did you leave your horse?" Lucien asks, stroking Shadowmere's neck affectionately. It is a question of genuine interest. He could not detect any sign of another horse while Arabella followed him around all that time.

"I do not need a horse," she says, pride apparent in her voice. "I can turn myself into a bird, if necessary."

Lucien nods his understanding. He begins to see why the Night Mother showed so much interest in Arabella. She will be a valuable asset to him, and to the Brotherhood as long as he serves the guild.

"How long can you do that without tiring yourself out?"

"Same with the invisibility spell. Three to four hours at a time. After that, I like to have a bit of rest." Her tone slightly falters towards the end. She wonders whether he would ever look at her the same way she looks at him.

Lucien is impressed. Even as his magicka is superior to that of any in the Brotherhood, he can only achieve invisibility for half an hour. Even then, it renders him weak. Arabella's magical ability is far superior to his own. But this is not the time to admire her talent and strength. He needs to assess her power accurately; he has to know its limits. He mounts Shadowmere and stretches out his hand to her.

"Ride with me," he says, looking down at her confused face. "I need to drop by my sanctuary. It is not a long way for you. Nevertheless, time is short, and I need you to be near me."

She doesn't need his hand to mount the mare, but takes it. Any lingering sense of apprehension she feels towards her hopeless situation is quite forgotten. As Shadowmere quickens her pace, Arabella wraps her arms tightly around Lucien's torso, perhaps tighter than necessary. He notices it, but does not tell her to loosen the grip. Even though he will not admit it, there is a growing need inside him to feel comfort and warmth from another.

During Arabella's revelation, he has seen a disturbing image of himself meeting a traitor's death. Just how close he was heading towards that direction has shaken him. He feels quite alone. He has somehow learned to live with that feeling, even found satisfaction in it at times. However, this loneliness is more troublesome than anything he felt before. It disturbs him to think that the Unholy Matron told the then Listener to recruit Bellamont. It pains him to remember that the Lady refused Ungolim's request to identify the traitor. Despite all his devotion and hard work, he realises, he means very little to either Sithis or the Night Mother.

"Can you throw any other spell while you are invisible or your shape is changed?" Lucien breaks the comfortable silence.

"I wish I could," she replies, without raising her head from his shoulder. She does not want to lose the feel of contentment. "I need to change back into my usual form before making use of a different spell. Are you disappointed?"

"I didn't think you could. I just wanted to make sure there wouldn't be any major surprises left. You have already impressed me more than you could imagine."

She smiles to his back. She has his approval, and that thought pleases her.

"Can you do any Destruction magic?"

"I can only cast four spells in that area. Damage Strength, Damage Fatigue, Damage Magicka, and Disintegrate Weapon. But what I do, I can do well." Arabella bites her lip nervously, waiting for his verdict.

Lucien is silent for a while, contemplating her abilities. She may be a powerful mage, but will make a pretty incompetent assassin. It seems obvious that her magical abilities were best suited to defense rather than attack. She's probably never killed before. On the other hand, she could render his enemies powerless, thereby giving him an opportunity to fight and defeat a large number of them at the same time. When staying together, they will make a formidable team.

"What must I do to please you?" she asks, afraid to detect any disappointment in his reply.

"I will tell you during the second part of our journey," he says, the warmth in his voice relaxing her once again. Lucien senses the change and smiles. She is his to command; he has her exclusive loyalty.

* * *

"You want me to take Antoinetta for this mission?" Vicente asks, somewhat appalled by the prospect of having her constant company. Although she won't be able to poison him through her cooking, her chatty nature will certainly give him a headache. He tries to comfort himself with the fact that she is a capable assassin.

"It makes a sense to the Black Hand," Lucien replies reflectively. "The oldest and the newest member conducting the research. I cannot name Bellamont as a traitor till I have firm evidence. There are a few members that he wrapped around his little finger."

Vicente closes his eyes for a brief moment to digest the information Lucien has given. He does not and needs not ask whether the source is reliable; he trusts enough the Imperial's intelligence and instincts. Besides, they do not have much to go on, except that they should genuinely carry out background check for all current and previous sanctuary members. That course of action is always available if the search of Bellamont's hideout turns out to be futile. A faint smile appears on his lips and spreads to his pale cheeks. It makes to him a perfect sense that the Anvil Speaker is in fact the traitor. Every piece of the puzzle finally falls into one complete picture.

"I guess Ocheeva will have to take over the training. She hasn't got much administration work to do at the moment, anyway. She should be pleased with some extra responsibilities," Vicente says, making a mental note that he needs to sharpen his blade before leaving the sanctuary. "How much have you told Antoinetta about the task?"

"Only things she needs to know at this point. She has been informed that she is helping you to obtain some vital information for the Brotherhood. Even the meager amount of knowledge she obtained with a promise that concerns your sensitive dietary needs," Lucien replies with a sparkle of laughter in his eyes. The happenings in his sanctuary often distract him in a good way.

Vicente nods gratefully. "I believe you want us to travel tonight?"

"As early as you can," Lucien confirms. He smiles at the thought that even the conniving Bellamont cannot be in two places at the same time. It is most likely that he will avoid heading to Anvil straight after the Black Hand meeting, trying his best to lure some of the members deeper into his web of deceit. His wretched home will be free from him at the time of Vicente's visit. "One more thing. I have instructed Ocheeva and others to vacate this sanctuary and move to the abandoned house outside the western wall till further notice."

"You suppose Bellamont will seek the help of the Imperial Legion?"

"Bellamont will be forced to act after the Hand meeting. It is best to be prepared for any move he may attempt in desperation. I will be expecting you at the _West Weald Inn_. You remember the place in Skingrad?"

"That is a fine inn with good food," the vampire comments favorably. "Antoinetta will certainly appreciate your choice."

"I believe we will have a cause to celebrate," Lucien says, pulling the hood over his head. "May Sithis be with you."

"What if I come across our mutual friend on the way to Skingrad?" Vicente asks, watching Lucien's figure dissolve into darkness.

A low laughter breaks out before a meditative whisper answers back. "Spare his life if you can. He owes me a word or two."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Unlike the disappointingly short first counterpart, the second part of their journey has lasted for hours. Despite the commendable speed with which she moves, Shadowmere has shown no sign of slowing down so far. That she carries an extra weight on top of her normal load doesn't seem to faze her in the least. _Lucien's horse_. Arabella thinks with a fond smile. Everything that has happened to her since she set her eyes on the Imperial for the first time has a surreal air, but she no longer cares. All that matters to her is the man in front of her. He is alive, and his life is precious to her. When she is pressed against him this close, he is no one else's but hers. She has him all to herself at least for now.

Lucien has already told her what she must do after the Black Hand meeting. He is, however, undecided over whether he should tell her to be present. The gathering could last for hours, taking a toll on her valuable magicka, especially when she needs to follow Bellamont afterwards. On the other hand, it will be useful to her to be able to identify the members.

"What is the least taxing way of making yourself unnoticed for a lengthy period?"

"You want me at the meeting?" she asks with a small grin. She has his trust and finds the thought touching, even as she understands that she means no more than a valuable instrument to him.

"I am considering that option. It depends on your answer."

"I can turn myself into your shadow. This method uses up the least of my energies," she says, already anticipating his next question.

"And the reason you didn't use it before?"

"It required your consent and willingness. It is a pretty useless method if I want to chase someone unobserved."

"Perfect," he says with a broad smile. _Lucien's shadow_. He loves the sound of it, and thinks she will fulfil the role perfectly.

When Shadowmere finally shows a sign of slowing down, the sunrise is still an hour away. As they dismount the mare, Arabella selfishly lets out a sigh of disappointment. "But I thought assassins loved travelling during the night."

"Shadowmere needs a rest. She hasn't had much of it for a few days," he replies from a few feet ahead of her. "Neither have I."

"Ah." She laughs softly. After all that lecturing on the way about never making herself vulnerable again, he just confessed that he had not been looking after himself.

When they arrive at a small inn named _Traveller's Comfort_, their hood and robe are carefully hidden in the travelling bag. Even the armours are gone. Lucien in plain black clothing makes out a convincing law-abiding citizen of the Empire. That does not, however, help the mood of the inn-keeper, who was rudely awaken by the unrelenting knock on the grim-looking premise. After uttering a few curses under her breath, the unhappy Dunmer reluctantly produces a key from behind the counter. She wasn't saving her best room for two idiots who put themselves at risk by travelling at night and then ruined her beauty sleep by not carrying on travelling. Arabella's heart skips a beat as Lucien shows no interest in obtaining an extra key.

Even the best room of the inn cannot shake off the shabby impression that the place imposes on the visitors. But nothing seems to dampen the maddening desire that spreads through her veins. She feels small and vulnerable under his contemplating gaze, because she doesn't know what his exact intentions are. She nervously eyes a rather comfortable looking chaise longue in the corner, slightly dismayed to find the furniture. If she has any pride left regarding Lucien Lachance, it is her determination not to use any charm spells on him. She wants to know where she really stands with him. Apart from that stubbornness, there is no will inside her to hide her longing from the man who would not have hesitated to end her life only a few days ago.

He encircles her like a predator trapping its prey before standing directly behind her. "You want this," he whispers, wrapping her frame with his arms.  
"Yes," she whispers back, her eyes tightly closed. She knows they will remain like that till he makes her his own in every sense. She will not see him naked; she does not want to see him vulnerable just like any other man. But the desire to feel him inside her is too strong to put up even a customary show of resistance.

Lucien slowly moves his hands upwards, feeling her trembling beneath the thin layer of her red dress adorned with gold trimmings. As he palms her breasts and applies firm pressure, she begins to whimper helplessly. "You know you shouldn't," he says huskily, his skilful hands deftly removing her garments. "What I will do to you is an act of possession, not that of affection."

"Tell me what I do not already know," she replies, forcing a smile. "I am this way because I cannot be any other way with you."  
"But what you cannot help becomes your choice," he murmurs, his breathing still steady. He wishes he could let himself lose control just once, but he cannot afford any weakness. "And this choice will become irrevocable."  
She grasps the fact that he is warning her and knows that she will agree to whatever terms he wants her to abide by. "Meaning?"  
"You will belong to me completely, mind, body and soul. What is mine, I do not share."

"I'm yours," Arabella says despairingly. In the game of love, those who love more always end up giving more. What chance does she have against a man whom she wants more than anything when he is capable of walking away from her? As long as she doesn't have to watch him fall for someone else, there is nowhere she'd rather be than around him. And even that may not dissuade her from yearning for his attention. She will probably live to regret her choice, but what is life without passion and a few regrets? She may lament what she has become when her infatuation cools and obsession subsides. The future is, however, not as concrete and decisive as the present. For now, he stands in front as her reality, the only reality that counts. She will accept whatever he is willing to give.

Hot breaths mingle as Lucien positions himself on top of her. Looking down at the face full of submissive longing, he wonders what it will be like to abandon himself entirely to his feelings. Since he was recruited into the Brotherhood, he has learned and lived with a harsh discipline in order to climb up the hazardous ladder of the organisation. Everything he did was a calculative move, never letting his sentiments get the better of him. Planting a trail of soft kisses on her securely closed eyes – a gesture of affection that will not be repeated during the course of their physical intimacy, he ponders whether his heart is capable of the overwhelming passion that captivates Arabella, and even his arch-enemy Bellamont. It is not that he does not desire her. Rather, it is the knowledge that he would not have touched her before he had obtained what he wanted. With a bitter smile, he shakes off the idle contemplation and finally lets his needs guide his move.

* * *

A.N. After a big scare with my computer (thought my hard drive might have had it), I am really happy to publish this chapter. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Antoinetta rides Vicente's horse in thoughtful silence, eyes straight ahead. She does not admire the views of the clear summer sky nor asks permission to stop and pick up Nightshade plants to be used in her alchemy experiments. Her unusual quietness puzzles the small furry creature sitting comfortably on her shoulder.

"You are not quite yourself," says Vicente, no longer able to suppress his curiosity. "Not that I am complaining."

"It is related to the assassin among assassins, isn't it? Our mission, I mean."

"I am pleased you figured that one out yourself," Vicente replies approvingly. "I have trained you well."

Antoinetta smiles her sweet smile and asks reflectively, "Do you think that's why Lucien didn't explain our mission to me in detail? Because he wanted me to work it out by myself?"

"Lucien does not believe in sharing information more than absolutely necessary. It's a desirable trait for a Speaker," Vicente replies soothingly.

"I sometimes wish he could trust me more," says Antoinetta with a slightly troubled look. "I wish our mission were to deal with the traitor rather than collecting evidence against him. I will take every pleasure in teaching that wretched excuse of life not to trouble Lucien Lachance."

"You should not so eagerly assume it is _him_. It could have been very easily _her,_" The vampire scolds Antoinetta before reassuming a comforting tone. "This mission is a step towards that end. You should be honored that he allowed you to accompany me in the mission."

Antoinetta is quiet once again. She wants to ask so many questions but worries that her tutor will disapprove of them. As though reading her mind, Vicente resumes their conversation, with a lighter tone that puts her at ease, "You are still quite taken by your Speaker. You haven't even seen his face without the hood."

"Am I allowed to talk about my feelings for Lucien?" she asks, slightly surprised.

"Seeing that we are both out of the sanctuary and you probably will feel better afterwards, yes you are indeed. But do not repeat what I've already heard on the subject from you."

Her face beams, and Vicente is relived that she is unable to hug him at present. "I saw enough to know that I will never tire of his face. But that's not the point. He saved my life, and I want to make him happy. I mean he is so guarded all the time. He needs someone that he can relax around."

Her travel companion hesitates a little. He does not want to upset the girl, not after their little disagreement over the meal ingredients. Nevertheless, he is still her teacher and needs to play his role in directing her devotion to the right cause. She will not get anywhere unless she can prove that her loyalty lies first and foremost with the Brotherhood. It will be a waste of dark talent.

"He is old enough to be your father, physically and mentally."

"Exactly my point. It's about time for him to settle down and raise a family of his own," she counters, maintaining her cheerful tone.

Vicente swallows a chuckle at the image of Lucien lifting up and cooing a baby. True, some Speakers are married and live a life that resembles the normality outside the hours of their duty. Nevertheless, it does not seem to suit his most talented ex-pupil. Sithis forbids any such lame future for this brilliant Speaker.

"Lucien already has a family, the same family you and I have," he responds diplomatically. "We are his children, so to speak. He cares about us too much to start a new one."

Antoinetta narrows her eyes and asks grimly, "You don't think he will care for me that way? What if I prove myself to him as a capable assassin, worthy of his trust? He might see me differently, then."

Vicente sighs. It is plain to see that diplomacy is not going to work with her. "You already are a valued Sister. I cannot stop you pining after him and will not even try again. There is something, however, you need to know. Lucien Lachance is not capable of returning your feelings. Neither does he want to."

"I hate you," she snaps, annoyed that he expressed her own doubts so bluntly. "You are the only vampire who has a weakness in garlic. It's rather pathetic really."

Vicente's human form suddenly materialises behind Antoinetta, his unexpected proximity startling her a little. "How many vampires have you come across?"

"Why do you care?" She tries to put up a show of bravery.

"Because," he whispers, his lips close to her neck, "not every vampire will be able to resist a pretty blond girl."

"You are mean," she replies smilingly, feeling a strange sense of comfort at the warmth of his breath. "I am sorry for stepping out of line, dear Executioner."

"Good. Now listen carefully. I must travel ahead of you as I cannot be outdoors in the sunlight. Continue your ride till you reach the Gold Road. Not far from the junction, you will find an inn called _The Gold Cloud _in a small village overlooking the Lake Rumare. When you arrive, get a room with thick curtains for yourself –better still if the room has no windows - and have some rest. I will knock your door around seven in the evening."

"I will be there," she promises, wishing she could have company a while longer.

* * *

Lucien wakes up from deep slumber to find Arabella's arm draped over his chest. He is relieved to see her sleeping peacefully. She needed it; they won't get much rest for a while. They will have to rely on his Restore Fatigue potion till they can afford another sleep. Gently, he runs his fingers down her face, lingering for a while and settling on her lips. When she finally opens her eyes, there is no trace of bitterness or sadness in them, despite the fact that he must have hurt her during their sensual encounter. She only smiles at him, waiting for his instruction.

Lucien smiles warmly and sees the unguarded delight in her expression. It confirms what he already knows; he has power over her unlike any hold he has over anyone else. _Mine through and through_, he muses pleasantly before lifting up the blanket to examine the damages he caused on her delicate skin. Two large bruises on either side of her hips cause him to frown. "Do they hurt?" he inquires, covering the marks with his palms.

"In a good way," she replies, not quite believing the sudden display of tenderness from Lucien. She lets out a defeated sigh at his puzzled look. She doesn't want to elaborate on her remarks, but knows she doesn't have a choice on the matter. "The way you entered me and the uncaring manner you carried on thereafter felt right. It wasn't warm or gentle. But it wasn't cold. I believe you were honest with me. I think… the man inside me, the rapidity, the force … all that I experienced was you."

Lucien does not quite know what to say to her confession. He doesn't even understand why it touches him so deeply to the point of unnerving him. Instead of feeling triumphant, he feels almost vulnerable. It is this sense of helplessness that prevents him from holding her to his chest and stroking her head. He gladly shrugs off that alien feeling as the image of Bellamont and Arquen whispering to each other enters the corner of his mind. However unpleasant that image is, it is something that he is used to and knows how to deal with. He rises from the bed, leaving the warmth that another is willing to provide. An impassive look returns to his face. It is time for them to set off.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"It is so good of you to come, dear Brother," says the female Altmer, opening her arms as a welcome gesture. Despite her apparent hospitality and a charming voice, her eyes remain as cold and calculating as ever.

"Dear Sister, I am at your service." Even as Bellamont silently winces at the unwelcome contact, he accepts the gesture with a pleasant smile. "Have Belisarius arrived? He had a contract near Bravil. I have told him to meet me here."

"He should arrive soon. Shaleez will keep him company when he does," Arquen replies, gesturing at her Silencer who already greeted the Anvil Speaker with a polite bow. "Do come in. I wanted to speak to you before the Hand meeting. We don't have much time."

Arquen leads her guest through the deceptively large cave, located at the South of Bravil. She explains proudly how she has transformed a former hideout of Necromancers into her little summer house, along with the gory details of how she rid the previous residents.

"How wonderfully poetic," he approves both the killing process and the excessively red decoration, betraying no sign of his intense dislike of the arrogant High Elf. "You truly are the most revered Speaker of our special guild. The Night Mother smiles upon you."

"The rumors seem to disagree with your acute observation, dear Brother," Arquen replies, sitting herself down in a cushioned chair. Hatred seeps through her icy voice. "They say Lucien Lachance is the true child of Sithis and should succeed Ungolim. Tell me. Is it true that the members of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary talk openly about the _injustice_ of Lucien not being the Listener?"

Bellamont smiles slyly behind the concerned expression he adopts. If the rumor he had created already reached Arquen, it would surely have Ungolim unsettled by now. "Our underlings do not understand the importance of management and intelligence in leading a prominent organization such as ours, dear Sister. Lachance's magical abilities and blade skills may surpass yours and Ungolim's," he pauses one short moment, savoring the redness spreading through Arquen's golden complexion. _Yes, hate him with all the fury your sordid mind can breed. It hurts, doesn't it? That an Altmer cannot beat an Imperial without help._ "But our dear Listener and yourself have something very special. We are lucky that our inexperienced members do not decide who should be in charge of the treasured vessel of our Unholy Matron."

"You have so much wisdom for one so young," she says with a warning tone, resisting the urge to throw a shock spell on him for pointing out the real source of her hatred towards Lachance. "But dearest, never again make such a pompous assumption that I cannot beat the Cheydinhal Speaker in either magical or blade skills. I simply didn't have an opportunity to test them against him. I'm very respectful of the Five Tenants."

"Forgive me for offending you, dear Sister," Bellamont replies with a tone of apology, consoling his wounded pride with a delicious image of Arquen covered in her own blood, screaming her head off in pain and begging for his mercy. Her turn will come. It is Lucien Lachance he needs to concentrate on now.

"What you say about the lack of political skills in Lachance is, however, very true. We cannot allow him to find himself in the position of the Listener. As you know, the Night Mother seems to be showing signs of withdrawing her favor from the current Listener. In these circumstances, the idle rumors can prove disastrous; it may give Lachance wrong ideas. We must prey to the sweet Night Mother that a mere underhanded Imperial should not be promoted into an undeserving status. No, we must do more than preying. We must make sure that Ungolim will appoint me as his successor," Arquen finishes her speech, hoping that the Night Mother would approve her succession to the Listener, if anything happened to Ungolim.

"It is a most excellent plan, dear Sister. Unfortunately, our Listener would not agree to that. It has never been done before, and any such suggestion may make him suspect our loyalty. He believes that he still has several hundred years to rule the Hand," Bellamont replies smoothly, half-closing his eyes and tapping his fingers lightly on the wooden table. He stares as though in serious meditation. Arquen interprets his motion as contemplating a new plan and waits. She listens eagerly to a plan he had formulated even before he arrived at her summer residence. "You know there is a trouble in the Cheydinhal sanctuary. It has been for a while since the assassin among assassins began a most daring campaign. Yet, nothing has been done so far."

"And?" Arquen says impatiently, raising an eyebrow. He better not waste her time with a far less interesting problem. Who cares if the conspirator annihilates Lachance's power base by eliminating its members one by one? All they have to do is to wait and identify the last surviving member of the house as a traitor.

"Devoted children of Sithis will certainly suggest a ritual of purification at this stage. We cannot allow any further contamination of this vice into our sacred guild. However, the Cheydinhal Speaker may disagree."

Arquen laughs uninhibitedly. "He will try to protect his sanctuary. The self-serving Lachance will put his own interests before those of the Brotherhood. That will expose his true nature even to J'Ghasta."

"If our ignorant Khajiit friend can be enlightened, we should be able to secure enough votes for your promotion. The Night Mother usually respects the decisions of the Hand on such matters."

Bellamont does not believe that J'Ghasta will change his stance so easily. It does not matter to him in the least. He has no wish to see Arquen as a Listener. Her life is only valuable to him as a means of carrying out his master plan against Lucien Lachance. After that, he will gladly return her soul to the Void she worships. The High Elf, on the other hand, likes Bellamont's suggestion enough to smile prettily. J'Ghasta will be a hard work, but Lucien's unwillingness to purify his sanctuary may be just enough to plant a seed of doubt in the cat's mind. It will certainly deepen Ungolim's mistrust of the hateful Imperial.

"There is a fine bottle of wine and goblets in the cabinet over there. Can you bring them to the table?"

As Bellamont returns with the requested – rather demanded – items and pours the red liquid into a glass, she looks at him condescendingly and asks a question that has been in her mind for a while. "Tell me, Brother. What has Lachance done to lose your respect? You seem to be loathing him just as much as I do."

"Nothing, except that I do believe in the good of the Brotherhood," he replies with a glimpse of insanity in his eyes, handing the glass to Arquen. "He does, however, remind me of my father."

* * *

Arabella hungrily consumes the steaming stew in front of her. For a few days, she hasn't eaten anything other than a few pieces of stale bread and some fruits Lucien managed to find. The Speaker eyes her with a satisfactory smile, silently getting on with his own plate and a glass of ale. He doesn't like the fact that they are sitting too near the front door that creaks every time customers enter the premise or leave. But at least the food tastes agreeable, even though it didn't look particularly appetizing when the barkeep brought it to their table.

"Do you like babies?" he asks, seeing that it is not very wise to talk about the Brotherhood business in the crowded environment. Skingrad is three hours' ride away and it is only five in the evening. They can relax a little and stretch their legs, although it is rather a shame that they could not find a quieter corner.

Arabella nearly chokes on the stew. It is not a question she would expect from a professional assassin.

"No. Not really. I don't know what to do with them," she replies, regaining her composure.

"Ah, good."

"Why?" She looks up into his laughing eyes.

"You won't beg me to marry you, then."

"I haven't got any card left to coax you into something like that," she replies with a lighthearted tone. She is relieved to see that his temper has changed for the better. It has direct bearings on her own mood.

Lucien smiles at the naivety of her remarks. If anyone can trap him in that unexciting convention, it is Arabella. He is beginning to understand what makes her devotion to him so uneasy at times. The nature of her loyalty is so personal and without illusion that he cannot help but become somewhat overwhelmed by the feeling of protectiveness, which goes beyond his usual sense of responsibility towards his subordinates.

"Do you always blindly pursue what you want?" Lucien asks causally, emptying his glass.

"I have a kind of obsessive personality. When I find something interesting, I don't see anything else. It consumes every waking moment of my life. It's been like that with magic."

"And with me?"

"Yes," she admits, turning her gaze away from him. Whatever she will find in his eyes, she knows it's not going to be what she yearns for.

"Would you marry me if I begged?" she asks, trying to keep the atmosphere between them frivolous. She wants to make the most of it. When they are on the road once again, Lucien's thoughts will return to more pressing issues.

"Perhaps," he replies idly. "Do you want me to?"

"No," she says and means it. "Seeing that marriage probably means next to nothing to you, I prefer being your shadow to… being your wife. It suits my obsession better. Not that I have any choice on that front."

Lucien leaves the table with a bemused smile. Arabella follows him, wondering how long she will be allowed to ride behind him before he commands her to turn into his shadow.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Antoinetta brushes her wet hair in front of a full-length mirror, humming a little tune from a Breton folk song. After a few hours' sleep and a warm bath, she begins to like the Gold Cloud Inn. She can even see the virtues of the unsociable innkeeper. She is perhaps too busy, making palatable food and keeping the rooms as presentable as possible, considering the building could do with a whole revamp. It is indeed very thoughtful of her to keep a bath tub inside some of the rooms she rents out. The mirror is undoubtedly a lovely touch. Although the room does have a window, it does not face the early evening sun. Vicente should not be too unhappy. She looks into the mirror one last time, twirling around a little to appreciate her sky blue dress with generous amounts of white frills. Her profession always keeps her in good shape.

"Come in," she answers the gentle knocks on the door, her hand reaching inside the black boots where she carefully concealed a dagger. She is of course sure that it is only her mentor, but assassins cannot be too careful and should always be ready for the unexpected.

Vicente enters the room, carrying a large tray. Antoinetta is pleased to see that he is attentive enough to bring refreshments with him.

"I thought we could dine here rather than mixing with the crowd," he says, setting the tray down on a sturdy wooden table. "I see that you found a comfortable room for yourself."

"Yes, it was a real find. I hope the cellar was to your liking?" she replies, seating herself on the chair and thinking it could do with some cushions.

Vicente smiles with approval, and asks a customary question about her journey.

"Not very eventful, apart from taking care of two bandits," she sums up, wearing a sly smile on her lips. She can still see the wide open eyes of those ill-fated crooks. The eyes that stare into death always fascinate her. She can catch a glimpse of the realm of Sithis, their Dread Father. "I used to be afraid of so many things - guards, bandits and drunkards. Now I have no need of fear for them, I rarely come across them. A shame, really."

"So, you couldn't resist having a little fun," Vicente comments harshly. "We are proficient assassins, not impulsive murderers. What you did was unprofessional. You could have got into a mess before reaching this place."

"I didn't create the trouble," She counters bitterly. "They wanted to steal your horse."

"Could you just have blown them away or something?"

"Who says that's not what I did?" She says defiantly, before sighing resignedly at the unkind glare. "We are all getting a bit restless in the sanctuary. No work for a few days dampens our spirit. I'm not the worst affected."

"It is an opportunity for you to learn patience," he replies rather unsympathetically and takes a seat across her. "It is not the physical skills but the mental aptitude that distinguishes the special from the ordinary."

"Yes, Master. Now, can I help myself to the fruit cookies? They smell lovely," Antoinetta says cheerfully, hand already reaching out for the tempting bites.

"Now, you are just mocking me. Keep your mind more on what I say," Vicente observes with a frown, which turns into a smile as he watches her nibbling the sweets like a rabbit.

"I do. It's just that I cannot understand why you are so strict with me. Others get away with a lot more than you ever let me."

"Then, perhaps I wasn't paying as much attention to others as I should have done," he replies gently. It's never easy to upset Antoinetta. Not many men would want to see her big round eyes tearful. Vicente often finds himself resorting to a subtle approach without considering its effectiveness first. "But it is hard to overlook a gifted student."

"Really?" she exclaims, eyes beaming with pride, smoothing out a little crease in her dress before reaching for another cookie. "You don't think I'm just a pretty face?"

"Of course not. Do you think we would have promoted you to the rank of Assassin in such a short time, had we not acknowledged your talent? You are like a gift from the Night Mother herself." Vicente murmurs softly, his cool hand grasping her warm wrist for one brief moment.

She looks up at him in surprise, forgetting what her hand was doing on the table. He seemed always uncomfortable when she _accidentally_ hugged him in the past. _You are not really touch shy, are you?_ She grins mischievously, making him immediately regret his impulsive behaviour. She wonders whether M'raaj-Dar was right when he said that Vicente found her attractive because she had cat-like features – the best complement the Khajiit could think of.

"You know you don't have to keep your distance. It's not as though I will respect you any less if you express more of your affection for me," she says, meeting his gaze with a playful smile. "You shouldn't think me so immature simply because I talk childish at times. It's just a habit I picked up while living off the streets. People tend to be more obliged to help you if you appear harmless."

Vicente does not quite believe her but wisely decides not to contradict. "I will remember that. But you must continue to restrain yourself from embracing me for trivial reasons."

"Because you want to return my affections?"

He smiles at the audacious response. Somehow, she doesn't seem to be the little Antoinettahe thought he knew._ If you must know, it is because I want to do more than just holding you._ He knows better, however, than absent-mindedly playing along with her little game; he chooses to ignore her question. If he wants more than a tutor-student relationship with her, it will have to be on his terms.

"For our journey ahead, shrouded armour will be a more appropriate outfit. When you are ready, meet me at the bar."

As his hand reaches the door knob, Antoinetta murmurs to his back, not caring whether he might hear her. "I am going to get my answer, one way or another."

* * *

The sky is dark now, and Arabella can see a silhouette of town appear in distance. The sight fills her with mixed emotions. She feels both the sense of excitement and weariness at the prospect of playing a role –even if as a shadow - in the drama ahead. But neither feeling can beat the silent regret over the fact that their ride together is almost over.

Lucien gives a delicate pat on the mane of Shadowmere, causing the steed to slow to a grinding halt. Arabella straightens her posture and gently runs her palm down over his back. A comforting heat infiltrates his armour and tingles the skin, causing him to remember the feel of Arabella beneath his weight.

"I may not be able to find another opportunity to speak to you for a while," he begins, turning his head towards her. "I have a meeting with a friendly… associate before the Black Hand gathering. Are you familiar with the location of a shop called _All Things Alchemical_? It is not far from the mage guild."

Lucien grins at the thought of J'Ghasta detesting the idea of following him into the shop. The hardened assassin not wanting to be anywhere near a mere necrophiliac strikes him as both absurd and amusing. Perhaps the proprietor being also a Dunmer does not help the matter. Lucien is possibly one of the few customers that she values more alive than dead. She loves her regular supply of gold too much.

"You want me to join you inside the shop? You wish to send me away now?" she asks, managing to catch his gaze.

"It does not matter whether it is inside or outside the premise where you turn yourself into my shadow, so far as no one sees you near me. I will be there around half an hour before midnight."

Arabella nods her understanding, waiting for his next words.

"I am sending you to the Skingrad mage guild. I want you to purchase destruction spells from Adrienne Berene. You must know that she is not easy to get hold of but her spells are most effective. I trust that you will find a way to attract her attention."

Lucien's hand reaches into a satchel, producing a small bottle of liquid and a bag of gold. Arabella does not tell him that she knows Adrienne well nor asks him how well acquainted he is with one of her few friends. She merely enquires about the potion.

"I usually present a gift to my new Silencer, in the form of an enchanted blade. Seeing, however, that you probably are rather squeamish to draw blood," Lucien pauses before continuing, smiling at the look of embarrassment on her face, "I thought poison might lessen your… inhibition. Use it only when unforeseen circumstances make it necessary. Silencing a witness, for instance. Remember what I want from your mission is an incriminating evidence in case the search in Anvil proves futile. Do not confront him. I prefer him being alive for a few days. Besides, Bellamont is not fair game for a novice freelancer. You are far too valuable to be wasted on such a mishap of nature."

Arabella does not know whether she should burn with indignation or be grateful for the rather conservative assessment. As his lips softly fall on her forehead, the question fades into insignificance. The small gesture tells her that he wants her to make immediate leave, which she complies. Lucien catches her smile just before Arabella disappears into darkness, leaving a tender breeze around his features.

"Arabella," he sends his whisper after her. "I wish to see you smile every time you come back to me."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Adrienne's eyelashes flutter pleasingly as she is distracted by a dance of a butterfly that flew inside through the open window. A familiar sweet scent fills the room as the dance continues. "Really darling, you never use the door," says the Breton mage, returning her gaze to the book at hand. "Let me just read a few more pages. Take a seat."

"This isn't a social call, Adrienne. I know your use of the phrase _a few_ can be quite liberal," responds Arabella good-humoredly. "As for the door, I didn't want to see the unwelcoming sign upon my arrival."

"Oh?" Adrienne closes the book, paying full attention to her friend, who is standing near the desk, deliberately blocking the light emitted from the Bronze oil lamp fastened to the wall. Anyone else would have been flattened to the wall by now with one of Adrienne's infamous shock spells. "You want to consult me over the use of your magicka? That makes a change. You are normally damned proud of your rather limited range of skills."

"I need to buy a few spells," Arabella concedes with a self-conscious look.

"So, you finally realize that attack is sometimes the best mode of defense? You understand that you no longer live within the safe walls of the Arcane University," Adrienne taunts her friend with a fond smile.

She remembers the time when Arabella was an apprentice and she herself was a mage scholar. Even though she wanted the unusually talented Imperial girl to show much more interest in destruction magic, Arabella's primary pursuit has always remained with illusion and alteration. Nevertheless, it was a joy to watch Arabella's progress and hear about the way she successfully completed precarious tasks with little reliance on either destruction or conjuration.

"I'm glad that you finally opened your eyes to the ways of the world. Your freelance work will certainly benefit from the use of a proper destruction spell. Now, tell me which race your destruction target belongs to."

Arabella is thankful that her friend respects client confidentiality enough not to enquire more about the details of her contract.

"A Breton, for sure, and an Altmer, maybe. I'm certain that both are fairly confident in the area of destruction."

Adrianne sits back in her chair, eyes half-closed in contemplation. An effective use of destruction spells requires a certain mindset. The best of her spells will not help her friend much if Arabella is reluctant to kill.

"I have something marvelous. I have combined _Ice Bolt_ and _Lightening Blast_ to create what I call 'Ice Blast'. It travels as fast as the shock spells but it covers as wide an area as any frost damage. Your enemies will be fooled to think it's the Shock Shield or the Resist Shock they need to call for, but Ice Blast is in essence a frost spell. You can afford a mishit of the target as long as it is close enough."

"And you are going to let me have your newest invention?" Arabella asks, somewhat surprised by the lack of caution on her friend's part.

"On one condition. Do not use it unless you have the urge to kill. The other option will be to use it together with your sorry excuse of destruction spells since they are for your own protection and I have no cause to believe that you harbor any death wishes."

"That sounds fair. And the price?"

"The butterfly spell," Adrienne answers with a nervous cough. "Don't look at me like that. I do have my playful moods, now and then."

* * *

"Are you going to serve me or shall I serve myself?"

Lucien does not have to look towards the source of the booming voice that makes everyone wish they had been given warning to cover their ears. Still, he cannot help throwing a glance and smiling at the sight of a fearsome-looking Nord wrapped in a full suit of fur amour. Hoar-Blood's presence in the bar means that J'Ghasta has been waiting for him. Lucien chuckles as he watches a pale looking brunet girl immediately ceasing her conversation with a customer and hurriedly heading towards the bar. He waits for the bar maid to finish serving the impatient Nord before asking her in which room J'Ghasta is staying.

"You really should not try to impress me, dear Lucien. I recognize your smell well enough," J'Ghasta comments, as he watches the door open and close by itself.

Lucien materializes abruptly in the middle of a rather poorly lit room, looking down the Khajiit, who is sitting on the edge of a large double bed while happily sipping a glass of red wine.

"It is a mere habit, I assure you," Lucien says pleasantly. "Most invisibility spells have not been created to fool a Khajiit. Then again, your keen sense of smell is rather unusual even for your own race. It serves Sithis well."

"It serves me better," J'Ghasta replies humorously. "Our Dread Father does not intervene if a contract goes wrong. Talking about contracts, is there any particular reason you wanted me to bring Havilstein with me? We are a bit behind contracts at the moment. Ungolim will give me a hard time if I do not employ my Silencer to help with the work load of others in the Burma sanctuary. We don't have Vicente in Burma. The members of my sanctuary are not as skilled as those in yours."

"Havilstein will make the most reliable courier, and you will need to send one soon to Burma… after our little discussion."

"Ah, the rumor finally reached you, then?" The Khajiit Speaker grins tellingly, playing with his whiskers.

"What rumor?"

"Arquen believes she should be the Next Listener, seeing that Ungolim is losing a favor from our Unholy Matron. She believes that Ungolim must appoint her as his successor before his demise," J'Ghasta informs him proudly. He has a way of finding valuable information, which helped him greatly in securing his position in the Black Hand.

Lucien smiles inwardly. His advice to J'Ghasta seems to have paid off. The Khajiit must have found a way of bribing Arquen's Silencer. The Altmer has never got on with any of her subordinates.

"I have somewhat interesting news," Lucien says in a low whisper, making the Bruma Speaker's ears prick up. "It appears that the recently deceased Ulrich Leland was married to a daughter of Adamus Phillida. Now, I am not suggesting anything but have to wonder why Bellamont and Arquen were so keen on getting Phillida assassinated, when my sanctuary was targeted by the assassin among assassins… and Leland was the Captain of the Cheydinhal city guard."

"Leland is dead?" J'Ghasta smiles. Knowing Lucien, he probably removed the source of his concern before it materialized in any concrete form, without going through a tedious discussion in one of their unproductive meetings. "Natural causes, I presume."

"Regretfully as natural as it could be, I heard," Lucien states in a matter of fact tone.

"Is there any chance that the traitor contacted Leland before his demise?" the Khajiit raises a practical question. "Or was going to?"

"I would suggest that we proceed with great caution and vacate our usual residence till we identify the conspirator. But I will not make this proposal in our official meeting. Our Listener may find the disadvantages outweigh the benefits of such a measure."

By now, J'Ghasta can fully comprehend that Lucien suspects one of the Black Hand members for the recent troubles in the Brotherhood. If his inkling is right, there is a distinctive possibility that their whereabouts may become known to the Imperial Legion.

"I've always wanted a little holiday," J'Ghasta says, raising his glass to his lips. "Which destination do you suggest, Lucien?"

"We will discuss it after the meeting. I am rather partial to a bit of time off myself."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"You know I still don't know much about our mission," Antoinetta begins, leading Vicente's black steed to a stream. "Don't you think it is time to tell me?"

"You have talked about many things during the first part of our journey," Vicente replies, massaging his temples. Antoinetta has been her cheerful self unlike the previous night. "I'm glad that you finally asked an important question, though I am rather impressed with your extensive knowledge of our family members."

"You know everyone likes you when you show interest in their life and the like," she replies with a smile, spreading a large blanket on the ground in front of a large silver birch. "I have some drinks in my sack. Do you care for some? I promise there is no garlic in it."

"Blackberry and wheat grain. A good choice of ingredients," Vicente gives his praise, after sniffing and swallowing the homemade potion Antoinetta offered. "It has both a pleasant taste and beneficial effects. Your study in alchemy certainly has not been vain."

"I have a good teacher," she returns the compliment with a grin that makes Vicente rather nervous. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hug you right now. As you said, I did ask an important question."

Antoinetta makes herself comfortable on the blanket she laid out and leans against the tree, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. Vicente does the same, to make sure they are close enough to communicate in whispers.

"We are heading for a certain lighthouse in Anvil, which your Speaker suspects to be the residence of our clever friend. Our mission is to find evidence of his treachery."

"Bellamont. Lucien thinks Bellamont is the traitor," Antoinetta reasons with confidence.

"What makes you think that?" Vicente asks, both surprised and pleased. He wasn't going to tell her the name of the suspect.

"Simple. The traitor must be either a current or a previous member of our sanctuary. If he or she no longer lives in the sanctuary, he or she must have a good overall knowledge of the Brotherhood's business. In other words, a member of the Black Hand. I heard that Bellamont left our sanctuary to work for an Anvil Speaker. Not long after that, the Speaker was killed. I've suspected that Bellamont might have filled the role since he was rather skilled in illusion and destruction," she replies proudly. "You know I don't just indulge in gossip. I try to find a meaning in it. I am a bit more complicated than you or Lucien gives me credit for."

"Indeed," Vicente concedes, laughing softly. "But you do your best to appear harmless. So, look upon it as a triumph on your part."

"Do I get a kiss?"

"A what?"

"A kiss for being a good student," Antoinetta confirms, her fingers lightly playing on his lips. "I've always wanted to know what it tastes like to kiss a vampire."

"Right now, it tastes like blackberry," Vicente replies, pulling himself up to his feet. "If you want to know whether I would return your kiss, the answer is _no_."

"Is that _never_ or _not just now_?"

"Keep trying, and you might just find the answer," comes the reply. "The truth is I do not know it myself."

* * *

It is midnight, and an abandoned house just outside Skingrad is once again full of life – though a somewhat eerie feel to it – despite the years of neglect. It appears still perfectly empty from outside, except if anyone tries to enter, they will find the front door lock broken. A flicker of red lighting illuminates dark hooded figures around a grand dining table, which looks rather out of the place in the gloomy living area. The chairs, however, fit in well with the surroundings, making a creaky noise every time someone shifts their weight. J'Ghasta hates the fact that their gathering should take place in such a cheerless place, with no drinks or food around. Ungolim has some very strange ideas of what earns the approval of the Night Mother.

The Listener distributes new lists of potential customers to his Speakers after a lengthy speech, which mainly consists of praise for their Dread Father and Unholy Matron. Everyone looks rather puzzled when no such list is handed out to the Cheydinhal Speaker. Despite his dislike of Lucien, Ungolim always gave the longest list to the Imperial because of his proficiency in drawing a lucrative contract. Although this made him the richest Speaker, it rendered Ungolim even richer and left a little time for political indulgence to the able Black Hand member.

"Perhaps the Night Mother thinks it is time for a painful ritual to be called for," announces Arquen when Ungolim is seated once again at the top of the table, "since we are still no closer to exposing the identity of the assassin among assassins."

"The Night Mother has already seen the measures I took in her infinite wisdom and approves of it," Lucien responds coolly. "As the Speaker of the Cheydinhal sanctuary, I have ordered Vicente Valtieri and Antoinetta Mary to conduct an investigation on the background of all current and previous members of the sanctuary. The others will remain inside the sanctuary till the investigation reaches its conclusion."

"What nonsense!" Arquen cries out, her lips visibly quivering with anger. "Are you accusing me and Bellamont of the treachery, too? It's a waste of valuable time."

"Dear Sister, I am not accusing you of anything. I did not exempt myself or the Bruma Speaker here from their research objects. By your logic, I must be seen as accusing myself as well as J'Ghasta, which is simply absurd. It is just that we cannot take any chances at this stage. A month is all that I ask, and I am sure we will all be in the clear and the traitor will be brought to justice."

Bellamont casts a mild chill spell on himself to prevent a bead of sweat forming on his brow. Something is wrong, very wrong. He can sense it, but he cannot afford the Black Hand noticing his apprehension. He eyes nervously Arquen and Ungolim. To his dismay, neither of them attempts to argue with Lucien's well-thought out plan. Arquen's brain seems to have gone into a shut-down mode.

"Does it occur to you that you've trusted the crucial investigation to the hands of the very suspects? What if Vicente or Antoinetta is the conspirator? I suggest that you should order them to return to the sanctuary and let the Black Hand members carry out the task," Bellamont makes his objection known, seeing that there is no other way.

"Dear Brother, this research focuses on the personal history of Brotherhood members. Vicente has been a member for over two hundred years, and it is not likely that he would have waited for so many years to plot a downfall of our organization based on some unknown personal grudge. Even if that were the case, he is accompanied by Antoinetta, who joined us after the acts of treachery started and, therefore, should be seen as innocent," Lucien replies with a condescending smile. _Soon, very soon, it will be all over, Bellamont._ "Even if I want to, I cannot call them back at this stage, since I have no idea where they are. I did not give them a specific order in which the background check should be carried out."

"So you have no idea whose private story they are going to dig up first? How competent!" Arquen makes another contribution to the discussion.

"Hope it is yours, Sister. That will put you in the clear before everyone else from my sanctuary, since you must have nothing to hide."

"You should have waited to hear our views on such an important matter. You care for nothing else but your own interests," Arquen counters crossly, her immature argument making even Bellamont wince.

"I had no idea you so much desired your involvement in solving the troubles that plagued the Cheydinhal sanctuary. If I remember correctly, you had not shown much interest on the subject until this meeting. Let me know your thoughts in future. I have yet to learn how to read minds, especially one as volatile as yours," Lucien replies in a sarcastic tone. His patience with Arquen is wearing thin.

"We will wait for a month. If we do not find any solid evidence that will shed a conclusive light on the problem, we will use the purification ritual on the Cheydinhal sanctuary," Ungolim settles the dispute in Lucien's favor, to everyone's astonishment. He does not exactly comprehend why the Night Mother wanted the Cheydinhal Speaker exempt from his usual duties for a whole month. His dislike and weariness of Lucien, however, does not prevent him from seeing that it has something to do with the Imperial's scheme to capture the troublesome traitor. Making a public disapproval of such a plan will lead to him looking extremely foolish, if it turns out to be successful. If it happens to be a failure, however, it will only prove the incompetence of his unsettling subordinate. Either way, he is better off letting the matter rest for now.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Arabella keeps her pace with the dark figures ahead of her, trying to resist contemplating their destination –which she figures is a nearby stable - and arrive there in advance. It is easy to lose them as they blend well with the darkness. So, she concentrates mainly on Bellamont, who's been trailing slightly behind Arquen at a good enough distance to enjoy the solitude while being able to overhear her mutterings.

From what Arabella has observed so far, Arquen is lacking in political intelligence despite her ambitious disposition. The Altmer remains, however, a formidable foe. According to Lucien, her blade skills and her ability with Destruction magic are second only to himself among the Black Hand. In addition, she has a strikingly beautiful face and figure, which makes Ungolim blind to her ambition. Ironically, it is her idiocy and unstable temperament that force Lucien to constantly watch his back for her shady schemes. One of these days, she may just decide to eliminate him and think about the consequences later. Arquen is unpredictable in a predictable sort of way.

Bellamont, on the other hand, shows little sign of agitation or frustration, apart from a few wobbly steps and clenched fists, even though the meeting outcome must have shaken him. For that, Arabella has to admire his resilience. All those years of living a lie – though he seemed to enjoy killing a little too much for it to be an entire lie – combined with his iron determination make it nearly impossible for anyone to detect the madness that has been building up inside. He looks harsh and much older than his age, but never insane while he is on his guard. Arabella speculates whether he will have his peace after death. Probably not, she thinks with a slight pang of guilt. She will be the cause of making his whole wretched existence meaningless. The one purpose he has in his life cannot be met without destroying her mind. One of them must fail.

What Arabella cannot see while following Bellamont from behind is his face, which has lost its usual discipline. It is pale even for an assassin, who tends to move about during the night hours. His eyes are full of mixed emotions, panic, anger, doubt and the like. Bellamont has been thinking furiously and somewhat incoherently. He cannot understand why Ungolim did not publicly declare displeasure at his enemy's damnable scheme. He is afraid that Lucien suspects him and Arquen above everyone else. What if he is the one whose background will be looked into first? Between the dismal attacks of doubt, he sees his mother's image, sad and defeated. He feels tempted to end his life there and then to seek consolation and the love of his mother, who has been his only strength even in death.

_Mother. It's been long, so long. We were nearly there. You and I. We could have defeated them all. You would have been proud of me. Remember. You called me your treasure, your pride and joy. We were happy till the bad man paid us a visit. Father paid the price for your premature departure but the bad man still lives. I feel cold, so very cold. It's been always like that since that night. You've been cold. How can I bring life back to your cold heart? You do not smile any longer. Red roses. They used to make you smile. I wish I could lie, buried in the rose petals, and die, feeling the softness of your caress. I want to be with you but you will shun me if I fail to avenge your grief. I cannot die. I have to try. But I have a very little time. Still, I have to try. See I hate them all. Yet, I fooled them into thinking I was one of them. They will pay. Lachance will pay. We will be there. I will find a way._

"Dear Brother," Arquen stops a good few yards in front of a one-story stone building and summons Bellamont to her side. "We have seen how dubious Lachance is. I am sure he is working hard his pathetic brain, trying to obtain the Listener's position. He knows we have nothing to do with the treachery. He merely wants to plant a seed of mistrust at the heart of the Black Hand. I'm very suspicious of what other steps he is willing take to achieve his ambition. I will send Shaleez to check upon Lachance's next move."  
A plan forms rapidly inside Bellamont's head. A glint of opportunity betrays his steely eyes for a brief moment. Arquen has just signed her own death warrant, thereby restoring his chance to bring down Lucien to disgrace and ruin.  
"I do not believe Shaleez has the necessary skill and ability to spy on Lachance. I will keep an eye on him, Sister," he announces, carefully hiding his glee. It will give him so much pleasure to see the look of shock and horror from the Altmer's overconfident face. "I believe he will probably stay overnight with J'Ghasta in one of the Inns in Skingrad. I will find him and immediately report to you if I see any suspicious movement. Send a courier to my sanctuary to deliver this list and tell Belisarius to stay in Bravil till a further notice. I want to speak to him direct about his next contract."  
"Good. I will be in my summer house in Bravil. We must be in frequent contact from now on."  
"Farewell, dear Sister. May the Night Mother smile upon us next time we meet."

* * *

"Has Havilstein left for Bruma?" Lucien enquires, watching J'Ghasta sampling a few berries generously piled in a bowl. "It took you a while to write that note."  
"Yes, I asked him to pay a visit to my sanctuary before he finds himself and Redmaw a new home," J'Ghasta replies in a whisper, more out of habit than necessity since the bar is now empty except for the two of them occupying a corner table. "So, I gather you suspect either Arquen or Bellamont as the traitor. It doesn't really matter which one, though I believe it to be Bellamont. The way you handled the meeting tonight, we will probably have to deal with them both. It is a dangerous game you are playing at the moment. You deliberately let them know your misgivings."  
"It's better for them to act when we are prepared," Lucien replies smilingly, leaning forward slightly. "What makes you suppose that Bellamont is the traitor rather than Arquen?"  
"J'Ghasta knows a great many things," the Bruma Speaker throws a lighthearted joke, causing Lucien to chuckle.  
"We Khajiits are rather sensitive to the temperature change. The room became slightly cooler after you told the Hand about your scheme to identify the conspirator. A sign of someone using a chill spell," J'Ghasta explains, feeling a little smug about his own abilities. "Arquen's complexion remained red while that of Bellamont looked purple in the red light. He probably overused the spell."

Lucien laughs heartily, which brings a smile on J'Ghasta's lips. It's been long since he made Lucien laugh so openly.  
"What would you do if you were Bellamont?" asks Lucien, wondering how far away Arabella might be from Skingrad. From her bright smile, he could infer that she had managed to purchase a satisfying spell or two. However, they had no time to exchange words, leaving the spell in her incompetent hands for now. He likes the idea of having her back well before they set off to Bravil.  
"I believe our revered Listener needs to save his own skin. Seeing that we are in no hurry to set off to Bravil, I gather you do not mind if Bellamont succeeds."  
"Considering all the grief he has brought to my sanctuary, it is the least Bellamont could do for me and our family," replies Lucien with a wicked smile, handing a potion to the Khajiit Speaker. "Drink some. It does more than simply restoring fatigue. I suggest we should sleep in turn just in case Bellamont wants an easy escape."

"Ah, just what I needed," J'Ghasta says with a sly smile and swallows a mouthful of the potion, made of finest blackberry, columbine root pulp, and foxglove nectar. "It is, however, not necessary to be on constant alert. I can smell Bellamont from miles away. He has the most disagreeable body order I've ever come across. If you spend less time with the rotting sentinels in your so-called 'private sanctum', even you may notice it. Seeing that we can relax a bit, do you mind if I excuse myself for a little while? I don't want to upset my lady friend upstairs."  
"You managed to seduce the bar maid? When?"  
"Honestly, you can be so slow. Did you really think it took me so long just to say farewell to our dear Havilstein?"  
"I thought you wanted to be sure that no one was following him." Lucien shakes his head in mock disapproval. "I should have guessed when she came in shortly after you before she locked the premise and hurried upstairs."  
"Well, now you know. And if I die earlier than I would like to, thanks to my association with you, I will have one less regret."  
"I will be in my room if you need me," Lucien concludes their late night discourse, intending to enjoy a long relaxing bath. The dice has already been thrown. All Lucien can do is to give Bellamont enough time to carry out a part of his altered scheme before tracking him down.

_May your hatred of me be strong enough to motivate you to take a gamble on the likelihood of the Black Hand blaming me for Ungolim's death. May your cunningness lead you to believe that the likelihood increases with Arquen's demise. Then, only then, I might just show a semblance of pity on your last journey._


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

"Antoinetta," Vicente calls out softly, looking at her pale, expressionless face. She has been brutally efficient inside the lighthouse cellar, bagging the severed head of Bellamont's mother without a single moan and not even giving a second look at the decomposing corpse of Maria. There was no complaint about the nauseating smell that even Vicente found disturbing.

She looks up to find the concerned expression of her mentor. She finally realises that she no longer needs the mask of indifference. The investigative part of their mission has been complete and there is nothing else they must do till the sunset. The feeling of sickness built up inside her finally finds an outlet, breaking out as unreserved tears and audible sobs. Vicente sits next to her, wrapping her in his arms. Antoinetta stays in his embrace for a long while and finds the experience uplifting.

"I wish I followed Maria when she told me she was meeting her secret friend," she says, her voice hoarse and strained. "She wouldn't tell me who he was, but she looked so happy. The bastard didn't even have the decency to give her a burial. He probably wrote that disturbing writing on the wall with her blood."  
"We all wish we could have seen through his disguise. I am the one who trained him. I should have seen this coming. I am sorry… I knew you loved Maria."  
Antoinetta shakes her head and meets his gaze with a soft expression. "It is not your fault, just as it is not Lucien's. I have to wonder though. Why does he hate Lucien so much? Why did you want me to get hold of the decayed head? You haven't told me everything."

"A long time ago even before you were born, Lucien carried out a contract. Bellamont was a child of the woman who died at Lucien's hands." Vicente finishes with an involuntary sigh. Times like this, he is reminded of the distressing fact that the Night Mother or any other deities for that matter do not see themselves bound by values such as loyalty. Mortals, in their view, exist solely for their own inconceivable plans.  
"That explains the madness and his desire to destroy Lucien's family. It must have been so excruciatingly painful for him not to kill Lucien whenever he had an opportunity. He must be crafty," she says, thoughtfully. "Will the Hand accept our findings as indisputable evidence?"  
"We will have to lead them to his hideout. We need to help Lucien catch him before he attempts to clear out the place," Vicente replies, gently stroking her hair. "Now try to get some sleep. We have another long journey ahead this evening. You need a rest."

Antoinetta grips his hand hard as she senses his weight leaving the mattress. "Stay with me," she pleads. "At least till I fall asleep. I am not asking you to do anything you don't want. I just need you to hold me. I will not ask more."

Vicente palms her sweet face with his free hand and regards her silently. It will be so easy to tell her he wants more. He wants to know how her lips taste and how her soft skin feels under his will. But he can see that for once, what she wants is comfort rather than pleasure.

"Nothing more?"  
"Nothing more," she repeats, unable to hide her delight.

* * *

Arabella finds herself in yet-another abandoned house not far from the junction where the Gold Road meets the White Rose Road. The assassins seem to have a knack of locating and making use of deserted places. Despite what he told Arquen, Bellamont made no effort to trace Lucien. Instead, he merely rode his horse towards the opposite direction till he was sure Arquen was some way away from Skingrad before he followed the same path as her. Arabella is relieved to see that he stopped his move in a small village as it makes her search of the contents in his luggage a lot easier. She decides to wait, however, before sending him to sleep. Whatever he is writing could be a yet-another incriminating evidence against him. Her patience is justified by the sound of someone cautiously opening the front door, which was heavily boarded not so long ago.

"You are late." Bellamont hisses at a Bosmer boy, still furiously scribbling words on yellow parchment.  
Arabella recognises the youth who is reluctantly approaching the hooded man. He is the one who has been delivering Bellamont's letters to the former Captain of the Cheydinhal city guard.  
"Well, I can't be that late if you are still working on the note you wish me to deliver." Enilroth unwisely tries his luck. Within an instance, he finds the hooded figure directly in front of him. Before it registers to him that he needs to make a hasty retreat, he feels a harsh pain across the face.  
"Have I not paid you well?" Bellamont asks, his eyes glaring menacingly. "Perhaps you want a different type of payment? Do not anger me, you dumb elf."  
"Forgive my ill manner, Sir," Enilroth replies with a subdued voice, rubbing his reddened cheek and wincing at the metallic taste of blood inside his mouth. "Do you want me to deliver the letter to Captain Leland, Sir?"  
"Yes, and do hurry up. It is urgent," Bellamont replies and seals the letter carefully.

Arabella sighs silently as she watches the boy leave. She will have to secure the letter as well, which will unfortunately delay her return to Lucien. Hopefully, the horse the Bosmer boy rides is not going to be as fast as the black horses that the high ranking Brotherhood members are using. She throws a glance at Bellamont, readying herself to become visible for a Sleep spell. Then a thought enters her head. She could give him a little parting present before she leaves him to his own devices. It seems fitting. He is entitled to a moment of peace like everyone else. It is the least she can do for him when she is the cause of his failure.

Bellamont turns around as the fresh scent of roses replaces the stagnant air. Red blossoms that he hadn't noticed before are strewn across the floor. He rises quickly, knocking the chair down in the process, and scans the room suspiciously. A gentle whisper rings in his ear as his eyes start to close involuntarily. "There is a beauty in life even as you only stumble on pain. Find it if you can. You do not have much time left."

Arabella casts a Feather spell and moves Bellamont's unconscious form into a bedroom. She looks down at the sleeping Breton, surrounded by red roses. She wishes to end his relentless struggle with the poison Lucien trusted her with, but knows that it will interrupt the Imperial Speaker's plan. Arabella takes her leave. At least, the Anvil Speaker's last dream will be a pleasant one, even if it is not what he will want to dream about. On her way out, she begins her search into Bellamont's satchel, which is still left open on the table after he took out his writing equipment. She smiles at the familiar feel of a little leather-bound book before creating a replica of his diary and leaving it where she found the original. Bellamont will think all is well except his strange hallucination when he wakes up.

* * *

J'Ghasta leisurely counts numbers with a bemused look while licking what little is left on his plate. Lucien has hardly touched his food or drink. Outside, the sun shines high above the thriving town. J'Ghasta thinks he could do with a nice long nap – after all, he had a rather exhausting morning and is sure he can have the bar maid one more time before they leave Skingrad. Lucien can always have his overworking mind as a companion.

"Five hundred!" The Khajiit exclaims, rudely awakening Lucien from his reverie.  
"What?" Lucien looks at his friend, looking slightly dumb-founded. J'Ghasta likes the expression; it shows his friend is less guarded around him.  
"You haven't said a word while I counted five hundred. And really the food and drinks here aren't that terrible to deserve such disrespect from you."  
"Ah." Lucien looks down and realises he has forgotten the fact that he was having a meal. His hands are loosely resting on the table, each still holding a knife and a fork. "I had some things to think through."  
"You would daydream less if you share more of your thoughts. I am risking life and limb to save you from disagreeable surprises that you may not escape alone. It doesn't hurt to tell me what's on your mind."

Lucien smiles at his perceptive companion. J'Ghasta has always had a way of making Lucien more open. But there are certain things that he will have to keep to himself, no matter how much he trusts the Khajiit. He cannot disclose the fact that he has been worried about his unofficial Silencer. It was quite unnecessary, for he trusted her abilities with the task he allocated to her. Arabella must remain invisible to any of the Brotherhood members. There are, however, things he can reveal. J'Ghasta has earned that much, and it is the right time to give out the information.

"Have some faith in me. It's not as though we are heading towards a death trap. We will have Vicente and Antoinetta join us before we go after Bellamont."  
"But you don't know where they are," J'Ghasta says, rather baffled. It doesn't, however, take him long to realise the implication of Lucien's disclosure. A rupture of laughter precedes a vigilant whisper. "You lied to the Black Hand? I should have guessed as much. When were you finally going to inform me of that little detail?"  
"I was going to tell you sometime today. They should be here by the next sunrise. Otherwise, I would have delayed our departure till Havilstein could accompany us."  
"That is comforting to know," J'Ghasta comments, looking rather relieved by the fact that their odds for surviving and benefiting from the conflict are much higher than he initially thought. "And I trust that they are coming with conclusive evidence?"  
"That remains to be seen. But they will certainly not come empty-handed," Lucien replies conservatively, even though he is reasonably confident that he will get it one way or another. "Would you mind if I stayed away from the Inn tonight? I will be back before Vicente and Antoinetta arrive."  
"You are not going to tell me where you will be, are you?"  
"No. And I will be grateful if you don't ask me what I will be doing."  
"Are you certain I cannot be of any use?"  
"Definitely not. I assure you that your presence will neither be required nor welcomed."

J'Ghasta scratches his chin thoughtfully. A mischievous gleam in his eyes soon spreads out, forming a broad grin. "Honestly, Lucien. You've answered all I need to know."

* * *

A.N. Jaylin, seeing that I have no way to make a reply to your review personally, I have to use this space to thank you. I want you to know how much I appreciated your encouragement. I wanted this fic a Lucien fic. So your comment on my portrayal of Lucien really made my day. Thank you! This chapter is longer than usual simply because I wanted Lucien to appear in every chapter. Hopefully, I can keep it that way till the ending.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Vicente has been awake for some time, his thin lips curled up slightly as he bemuses himself with the memory of her stay in the sanctuary. When he saw her first time, he never thought she would make it this far. The petite, pretty figure, albeit looking rather wretched, seemed to better suit cooking and socializing than hunting down and assassinating. He was proven wrong, and this time he didn't mind it a bit. What she lacked in her ability to learn the illusion magic, she made up for with her sneak and security skills. She truly knew how to walk in the shadows. Her ability to make herself likable has helped her successfully complete any given task. It was after all Antoinetta who succeeded in bringing an end to the life of the formidable Adamus Phillida, even though he himself could never see the point of crossing the entire Imperial Legion. The Brotherhood should have learned by then that intimidation was not the best strategy when it comes to those who regard themselves as the servants of the Empire. No matter, it was a well-deserved triumph for the latest recruit of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Antoinetta is turning out to be one of the best assassins he has trained in his two hundred years' career with the Brotherhood.

Antoinetta's sleepy eyes open as Vicente's cool fingers stroke her cheek. Something akin to warmth and trust in her expression pleases him, even though he tries not to think about her temptingly full lips.

"Your touch is so soothing," she murmurs, leaning closer to him. "It's nice to feel you so near."  
"It felt good to have you next to me when I woke up," Vicente confesses, trying to sit up so that he doesn't have to feel her warm breath dangerously close to his lips. "I will get some food and drink. The owner of this place serves good wine. Would you like to stroll around the town for a while?"  
"Not without you. It's not everyday I am sent on a mission with you."  
"You'd rather have my company?"

Such an obvious question, Antoinetta thinks with a twinkle in her eyes. She answers by pulling him back to bed and moves in to press her lips to his before he has time to think about his reaction. The surprised look on his normally serene face is worth any scolding that may come her way. But the only reprimand she receives is a fierce kiss in return, which nearly bruises her lips.

"You have returned my kiss," she says with a triumphant grin, after puling away to regain her breath.  
"I hope it wasn't disappointing, considering that you risked rather a lot for curiosity's sake."  
"Do I look disappointed? The only shame about it is that I won't be able to tell anyone what it tastes like to kiss a vampire."  
"You won't?"

Antoinetta is happy to see Vicente's relieved look. She understands that he risked a lot, too, even though his reaction was instinctive rather than intended. That she penetrated the impeccable barrier of a disciplined vampire is something to be proud of.

"If I tell anyone in the sanctuary about our kiss, they won't be able to look at you without being reminded of me, at least for a while. I don't make a good authority figure. Not exactly. It could compromise your influence within our family."

Vicente contemplates the Breton girl with an enigmatic smile. He was not worried about his own reputation within the Sanctuary. The next step for Antoinetta to aim at will be Lucien's Silencer, the fastest way into the Black Hand. The position, however, comes with higher risks to her safety. Lucien will be reluctant to give her that rank if he suspects that Vicente has feelings for her. Vicente believes that Antoinetta will be a good addition to the Hand. She will make a different but able Speaker. He does not tell her that, however. The important thing for now is that he has not jeopardized her future.

"So, do tell me. What is it like to kiss a vampire, now you have finally done it?"  
Antoinetta steadily meets his gaze, which reminds her of the strong sensation she experienced moments ago. It was almost like the Void unexpectedly revealing its secret. Ice that is so cold burns like fire.  
"I can get used to ambushing you. It yields a surprising bounty."

* * *

Arabella silently enters Summitmist Manor, completely unaware that not long ago five souls have been claimed here in the name of Sithis. It is just past midnight, and for once she is glad that the place is completely dark. Lucien will have to use his Night-eye spell to see her face, and it will be difficult to notice how pale she looks when everything appears blue. As she follows up the stairs onto the bedroom area, she feels his presence close by, and her apprehension at having committed her first murder is hopelessly replaced by exasperating heartbeats. The fact that the act was not carried out as a means of self-defence no longer troubles her. That she poisoned a defenceless Bosmer boy to his untimely demise just out of caution seems almost a petty trepidation, knowing that it meets Lucien's approval. To her, the Imperial Speaker is like an intoxicating beverage that only deepens her thirst the more she drinks it.

By the time she enters a room with the only candle light in the entire manor, she no longer fears how she will look. She is not afraid of meeting his eyes squarely. She has not failed him.  
"You look radiant. I believe your time has been well-employed."  
A deep voice greets her, accompanied by smiling eyes. Even before she says a word, Lucien understands that she has secured something important for the future of the Brotherhood.  
"I have the diary and something else that may interest you," Arabella reports, handing the items over to the Imperial Speaker. She is curious as to what exactly Bellamont wrote in his letter to Ulrich Leland. "Obtaining the diary wasn't as time-consuming as I thought. It took me longer to take possession of the letter which Bellamont wanted to be delivered to the Captain Leland. I thought it could be important."

Lucien nods approvingly. The seal of the letter has not been broken. It pleases him to know that Arabella brought it intact. There can be no doubt that the seal is definitely that of Bellamont. He will have no problem convincing Alval Uvani about who was communicating with the former Captain of the Cheydinhal city guard. Uvani will recognize the seal even if he is not familiar with the handwriting. This could prevent the possibility of having to slay the Dunmer battlemage. The more members of the Black Hand he could preserve, the better the outcome will be, with the exception of Ungolim and Arquen, whose lives were their own to defend. A bond forged in someone else's blood and death can only go as far as the Tenets demand it.

"Have you had a chance to glance at the letter before Bellamont sealed it? Do you know the exact contents?"  
"I haven't. I just presumed that it would be information that Captain Leland was waiting for."  
There is slight agitation in Arabella's words, her eyes dropping to the ground. She wonders whether she should have looked at the letter while she had a chance. It never occurred to her that she might fail to acquire it. Lucien smiles at his Silencer. She has done exceedingly well with her task, even though she still has room for improvement.  
"There is always a possibility that things could go wrong. I know you have more than enough ability to take possession of a mere note. Still, that does not excuse your carelessness not to find out the contents before they are sealed. On this occasion, it is slightly disappointing because I want to know the contents without breaking the seal. However, you have secured most valuable evidence against Bellamont. For that, I am grateful, Silencer."  
Arabella lifts up her eyes to meet his warm gaze. She believes that he will never fully realise how much the word 'grateful' and the soft glow in his eyes mean to her.  
"I can create an exact replica of the sealed letter for you," she says, with a tinge of pride in her eyes. "I've already left a replica of Bellamont's diary where I found the original. He will not know anything was wrong."  
"That will be most helpful. You have exceeded my expectations in your task, and they were by no means trivial. I have one last question for you as my Silencer. Did you take care of the unfortunate messenger?"

Arabella inhales deeply. The image of a lifeless, albeit peaceful-looking, body causes her to feel uneasy for a brief moment, which is not lost on Lucien. His presence, however, prevents her from indulging a sense of guilt for long. Somehow, it turns the unwanted emotion into more welcoming pride.  
"I no longer have the poison in my possession," she replies with a sigh of relief. She has passed the most important test.  
Lucien's gloved hand lightly grasps her chin, to prevent her from turning her gaze away from him.  
"Was it … hard?"  
Arabella feels as though his penetrating stare stabs right through the core of her soul, which now belongs to him. It should have been easier for her, but she did her best to keep her promise. His will governs her actions, and soon will dominate her feelings and thoughts.  
"It was not as difficult as I thought. It will get easier. It's just that I never really had any need to kill anyone."

Lucien contemplates her reaction, almost forgetting the need to examine Bellamont's diary and letter. The Brotherhood always gave the members their choice over their admission into the guild. No one needed to carry out a killing if they did not agree to it. Even after their initiation, the members only carried out the contracts that they felt comfortable accepting. True, Silencers did not have such a luxury, but one did not become a Silencer without voluntary consent. Arabella didn't have the same choice. He made her his own, and she had no option but to follow his orders. For the first time, Lucien believes what he preaches to his subordinates. He feels a bond between himself and Arabella strengthened beyond the point of return. An indissoluble connection has been created, and this time he is not free from it himself.


	14. Chapter 14

A.N. Sorry for the length of this chapter. I would have liked it longer but didn't have much time for writing. Hopefully, the next chapter is an improvement to this one, even if it means that it can take longer than a week before the next update. I can't believe I'm posting the fourteenth chapter. The fic was meant to be six to seven chapters long. I hope this didn't make the story progress too slowly.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Judging from the size of his house, there is nothing to indicate the prominent position Ungolim holds in the powerful organization that instils fear and apprehension in the minds of many. It is small and unspectacular just like an average house in Bravil. There is very little light inside, and the sunrise is still several hours away.

Bellamont waits patiently in one of many dark corners in that humble residence. He has been standing there for hours, and it feels long and tedious even for one who is so used to the waiting game. Finally, a glitter of relief appears in the stony face as the front door slowly opens.

Ungolim may not be the most perceptive member of the Black Hand, but even he can sense a murderous will that surrounds him like a thick fog. He does not know the strength of his foe, and it has been sometime since he had to fight anyone that might have outwitted him. It is, therefore, anger rather than fear that governs his reaction to the unwelcome visitor. The desire to expose the identity of his unseen enemy before handing out a crushing blow manifests as a powerful Dispell spell towards what he suspects as the source of the venomous energy. The response produces the desired effect, but not before he becomes a victim of a Paralyze spell.

The face of the intruder angers and confuses him. The menacing look Bellamont wears is not the side of the polite subordinate that he is familiar with. It does not, however, take long for Ungolim's expression to change from one of disbelief to that of terror, as an ebony dagger starts to hit and tear open random parts of his body with regular intervals like beats of a drum.

"Why are you not calling your Mother for help? Oh, I forgot. I only wanted you to listen. I didn't want to hear your irritating voice," Bellamont sneers at his victim, eyes glassy with pleasure of seeing his enemy's face distorted in pain. "I know what you think. You believe I'm a traitor to you and your uncaring Mother you are so desperate to please. But I was never one of you worthless lot. You see Sithis cannot claim my soul. I serve justice, and the Nine will embrace me as their hero. And the sight of your bloodied body pleases them. Do not despair, however, as Lachance will take the blame for your pitiful end. You will soon have someone to bicker with in that Void of yours. I'm merciful like that."

The babble continues, poured by triumphant euphoria of a man who is one step closer to achieving his bitter goal, the only objective that guides him. The story of a child who swore his revenge for the loss of his mother continues to unfold. But Ungolim cannot make much sense of Bellamont's words that become increasingly incoherent. By the time the Anvil Speaker talks of how he plans to use the death of the Listener in bringing down Lucien, Ungolim's garments are soaked in blood and the intense pain finally begins to dull as dizziness caused by blood loss takes over any remaining sense he is left with. He knows he does not have much life in him and squeezes his last drop of strength to throw a Shock spell upon the traitor who, in the rare moments of unguarded madness, has forgot to keep his prey paralysed. He watches Bellamont fly off and fall to the ground with a nasty hit on the head and wishes his beloved Lady would bestow upon him the strength to finish off her foe. She, however, remains silent to his prayer, and all he can do is simple breathing. As the cold realisation dawns upon him that she will not interfere with his fate, he only implores her to smile upon him as she used to. It will not be long before he has her answer.

* * *

There is something in Lucien's touch that makes Arabella react even in her sleep. As his fingers lightly play with the strands of dark hair curled around her forehead, she smiles softly and lets out a moan, filled with yearning for his closeness. She recognises his touch, and it brings her out from a couple of hours of blissful sleep that she managed because he commanded it. She takes hold of his hand, pressing it into her cheek. The sight is oddly touching, and he wonders how it happened so quickly that she let him become her world. Even as he is used to eliciting unquestionable obedience from his subordinates, he realises that fear always has played an important part in their desirable relationship. His charm and personality alone would not have been sufficient. With Arabella, he has no need to make her fearful of him and is not even sure whether he can produce such effects on her without damaging her beyond recognition.

"I wasn't going to wake you up," he says without a tone of apology.  
"I am pleased you did. If it were up to me, I would rather stay awake every single minute when you let me be with you."  
"That, darling, is why you are here now, and it doesn't seem that you learned anything from it."

Even though there is a hint of affection in his taunting words, they remind her of what she has become, his puppet through and through. Dismally though, she realises that she feels no remorse or shame on giving up her independence. She has already gone too far, all because of one mortal man and her blind passion. She cannot bring herself to feel terrible about her situation. So, she merely requests him to remove the hood to read his expressions better through the dim candle light.

"Not many people have seen my full face, knowing what I do," he states musingly as Arabella's hands cautiously explore the threads of black hair neatly tied into a pony tail. "Usually, it is better for them to remain that way."

A small grin forms on her lips momentarily. She knows she is one of the privileged few in that sense, and it makes her feel glad.

"Can I?" she asks hesitantly, the tips of her fingers touching a black strip that holds his hair together.  
"Go ahead," he replies, with unmistakable amusement in his expression. "It seems that you have to see me in a way that others have not managed to."

Arabella holds her breath, as she watches the dark hair fall and hang low around his shoulder line. It is a moment of small triumph for her, and she ponders how far he will allow her into the inner workings of his complex mind.

"Does passion live in the Void?" she asks, staring into the familiar eyes. They look cold mostly, when without humour. She wants to see them aflame with desire. It will be a beautiful sight to behold.

"It may well be, though without a concrete form. If it does, however, it is likely not to be aware of its own existence," he responds in silky whispers, the feel of his closeness causing her to shiver with a desire that she has no control of.

It is all that Lucien needs before he moves in for a tight embrace. He doesn't know what compels him to respond to her inconvenient yearning - inconvenient at times like this, times when they both will benefit from a few more hours of precious sleep. All he understands is that there will be no idyllic rest without satisfying his need to once again watch her lithe and whimper beneath his form, faithfully responding each and every whim of his desire.

* * *

Message to Jaylin: I wonder whether you are receiving my emails at all. :( Your last review seems to suggest otherwise. I hope that your computer will stop giving you troubles pretty soon. And a big thank you for your kind reviews. They keep me motivated.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Two bodies lie still in a cheerless house of Bravil. After hours passed, one finally stirs, showing a sign of life. There will be no such luck for the other, who came out as a loser in the previous struggle between the two. Bellamont finally wakes up, but not without severe pain. The whole body feels as though on fire, with his eyes red and swollen. His head and stomach snarl with heavy aches. It was rather a nasty shock spell and could have killed him without his Breton magic resistance and the protection of the robe and hood he was wearing.

Cursing his carelessness, he blindly searches his satchel to find a healing potion. Restoration art was, as in most assassins' cases, something that he neglected to learn in depth. He swallows the whole bottle, which gives him enough strength to stand up and examine the lifeless body of the former Listener. The pain is still overwhelming his senses, but time isn't something that he has in abundance. He has to act swiftly before Vicente and Antoinetta finds evidence of his ill will towards the Brotherhood.

He briefly wonders whether he should revise his plan and leave Arquen alive till he deals with Lucien, but decides against such a strategy. She will want to involve Uvani and J'Ghasta in the hunt of Ungolim's killer, and the two will not accept his fabricated testimony as sufficient evidence against Lachance. Arquen's death is necessary as the rivalry between her and Lachance is widely known among the Black Hand. Even if he can manage to convince her that there is no time to involve anyone else but their own Silencers in the chase, having her as a commander of the situation will go against the smooth operation of his plan. She will have to breathe her last breath before Lachance.

There is just one more thing he has to do for his own satisfaction before leaving the place. Bellamont wears a thin, feverish smile as he slices ears off Ungolim's corpse. He knows how to treat a dead body, but he is especially pleased with his masterful art as the symbolic meaning behind it should be clear to everyone in the Black Hand.

* * *

Arabella nestles her head to Lucien's chest as his breathing steadies, sheepishly grinning at the regular beat of his heart.  
"Do tell me. Is my heart capable of beating, even as cold as it is?"  
"It may be black, but it cannot be cold," Arabella replies, with the same light-hearted tone in her voice. Then, with a tinge of seriousness, she adds. "There is fire in your soul. Without it, you could not have driven yourself so hard to become who you are."  
Lucien smiles wearily, absent-mindedly stroking her hair. Soon, he will have to get back to the West Weald Inn, and for once, he is reluctant to leave the caress of another.

"Tell me about yourself."  
Arabella leaves the comfort of his chest, to meet his gaze. She is surprised and feels hopelessly lacking at the same time.  
"There isn't much to tell," she says apprehensively, her cheeks slightly reddening with awkwardness.  
"That will be no problem. Fortunately for you, we don't have time for a lengthy story. Just say something about Arabella that comes to your head, bearing in mind that I'm not asking you to impress me. Something about your childhood, for instance. I did say, in our initial meeting, that we could have time for friendly chats later."

Arabella isn't sure whether her childhood has any bearing upon who she is. The way she looks at the child she once was rather like how it viewed the world. But it is at least easy to talk about, and perhaps there is a connection even if she cannot pinpoint it.  
"I can't remember much of it, except that I was a quiet and oddly detached child. My parents thought it was because their vocation often left me without their care, sometimes for a long period of time. But I don't think that was the case, because I didn't miss them much though they were loving parents as far as I can remember. I just didn't feel that I belonged to this world. There was no sense of reality about it."

"Is that why you turned to magic?" Lucien asks, wondering whether their connection runs deeper than he has thought possible. Her childhood has striking similarity to his own. As a child, he didn't particularly harbour any hatred towards people. He just found them alien to him and his own family distant from his true identity. He was simply amoral.  
"My parents' vocation meant alteration magic was rather helpful, as lockpicks were expensive. That was the first school of magic I came across as they thought I would naturally follow their paths. They were proud of their profession. For me, it was an amazing experience. Learning magic and using it made me feel alive."

Lucien nods and chooses not to enquire about her parents, which she feels grateful. She does not want to relive the fateful day when she learned that both her parents had died while doing a special job for their illusive guild master. Her childhood ended that day. She had to grow up fast, and stole whatever she could to survive and educate herself. Her parents' savings were surprisingly modest, considering that they were both high ranking members of the Thieves Guild. She did inherit a spacious house, which she refused to sell and therefore could not help her feed herself. That she didn't love them as much as she should have done was perhaps the main factor behind the stubborn decision as she didn't have that much attachment to the place.

"And you?" Arabella breaks the reflective silence between them, her voice audibly lacking confidence. She shakes her head hard before Lucien can make his reply. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have asked. I understand that we need to get back to the inn soon."  
Lucien finds it nearly comical that she can change with such ease between two opposite poles; one minute she is a picture of self-assurance and the next she seems so unsure of herself. Or is it just him that turns her into a bundle of insecurity?  
"There is no need for apology. You will never hear me talk about myself unless you ask for it. For now, however, you need to go back to sleep. I had enough of it, not like you. Meet me again at _All Things Alchemical_ at noon."  
Arabella does not protest even though she is sceptical that she needs more sleep. Instead, she slips out of the bed to retrieve a bag of gold and a silver amulet with a star shaped, violet coloured stone from her travel bag. Lucien waits for her next move with keen interest; the amulet intrigues him. He can feel its magical energy and the fierce protectiveness towards himself; it is as though the amulet were a part of Arabella.

"I forgot to give you back the gold. It didn't cost me gold to learn the spell from Adrienne."  
"It didn't?"  
"She wanted a spell for a spell. I do not believe she developed it for financial reasons. Apart from a few high-ranking mages, there will be only a few who can make use of it. The magicka cost is simply too high, even for most Altmers. You will be able to handle it, but will need some time to recover before you can use another spell."

Lucien frowns a little. That thought came across his mind, too. It was also going to be a last resort for another reason. The spell is powerful enough to kill even a magically trained Breton. A quick, sudden death is not what he exactly had in mind for Bellamont's fate. The temptation to toy with his prey before the kill is too powerful even for an assassin who values efficiency above everything else, when it comes to Bellamont. Especially after he read the Breton's diary filled with hatred and ill intention towards him. Lucien is, however, astute enough to know that such an impulse is not worth jeopardising the safety of his own family, and his own life for that matter. With any luck, he will get Uvani on his side. Hopefully, he does not have to rely on powerful destruction magic. But life can turn out different from hopes, and there is no guarantee that he will reach Uvani before Bellamont does.

"You are not suggesting that I wear that amulet for my own protection?"  
The lack of distaste in his tone, contrary to his words, gives Arabella enough courage to offer him her most precious possession. What she does not tell him is that she transferred half of her own magicka into the amulet, which Lucien suspects as much.  
"Not for protection, but for proficiency," she responds simply, letting her eyes do the persuading. "Please accept it. If your life were in danger, I would not be able to remain as your shadow, whatever the cost. That will raise awkward questions for you later on."

Lucien knows such an event will cost her life unless she declares her alliance to the Brotherhood. Even his closest allies will be likely to demand her blood, unless their Unholy Matron intervenes, which is rather doubtful. Whatever reservation he has for taking half of her magicka away from her, he understands that he can make better use of it, when following her suggestion.

"You want me back without a scratch," he says, taking the trinket from her hands and smiling down into her relieved eyes. "And you will, along with this amulet. Such greediness meets my approval, and you have my gratitude for your devotion. But for the gold, you must keep it and another bag I have for you. I have a duty to provide for you, especially when I have exclusive rights to your services."

Lucien quickly covers her mouth with his before words of protest come out through her slightly parted lips, making her feel giddy but contented. He grins at her flushed face and gestures her lie at his side.

"Do not force me to purchase women's garments and toilettes for your use. For one thing, I will be hopeless. Now, go back to sleep. You won't be much good to me if you let yourself sleep-deprived once again."

Drowsiness wraps her gently, as Lucien places his palm against her cheek and soothes her with a melodious whisper.

"Know that I am bound to you as you are to me."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Travelling at night is something that Antoinetta came to enjoy; the smell of the night air contains excitement and mystery even though she wasn't a night creature before Lucien found her. She took to it like a fish to water and could not imagine herself ever being deprived of it. The Brotherhood changed her life and provided everything that she ever wanted. She has found her true family, one that gives her a sense of belonging. Tonight, however, there is a slightly troubled look on her face, and it isn't simply the fact that Vicente informed her that he could not accompany her throughout the last hours of their mission together.

Despite the fact that he rides with her in his human form, Vicente barely listens to her talk and surrounds himself with an unambiguously distant atmosphere. She feels as though she were going to lose a mile after gaining an inch, through tasting his lips, in her efforts to obtain his affections. Finally her patience runs out and she turns into the impertinent pupil she once was. "What is exactly wrong with you?"

Vicente responds to her by throwing his own question, ignoring the bitterness in her voice. "Would you slay me if Lucien gave you the order?" he asks causally, so causal that it takes her a while to grasp the essence of his question.

"Lucien will never give such an instruction," she protests, cursing the fact that she cannot read his face from behind. "You are his most loyal friend as far as I can see."

Vicente likes her response but decides to press the issue stubbornly. She has no idea how close she was from receiving just such an order. Further, they are not out of the woods yet. Bellamont may just be able to clear out his residence before the Hand visits the place. It is his duty, as her mentor, to prepare her for the ways of the Black Hand. He is sure that it won't be long before she leaves behind the life in the sanctuary.

"He will not issue such an order lightly, that I can agree with. However, you still did not answer my question."

Confusion reigns in Antoinetta's mind. She cannot see what answer Vicente is after and does not honestly know what she would do in such a scenario. Her Speaker was and still is her saviour. She would gladly lay down her own life at his feet. But can she carry out such an act without losing a part of herself, without losing some of her absolute trust in Lucien? It wouldn't just be a blatant act of betrayal but also a senseless loss for the Brotherhood he serves.

"You hesitate," Vicente says sternly. "While I do appreciate your sentiment, the needs of the Brotherhood must come before your feelings. Lucien's words are your law as he is your Speaker and the truest son of the Night Mother. There may come a time when you are required to break the Tenets. If such a time ever comes, simply remember this. The Tenets serve Sithis and not the other way around. They can be broken if it is his will to do so. I will not hesitate to take your life if our Dread Father demands your sacrifice."

Anger and bewilderment overwhelm Antoinetta, and the tone of her reply does not conceal her feelings. She believes that Vicente has been testing her loyalty to Sithis and she does not like his ruthlessness in delivering the message that the will of their Dread Father must override any individual consideration.

"I will deliver your soul to the Void if Lucien tells me that it is the wishes of Sithis. But don't expect me to do it with the serenity you probably are capable of."

Even in her anger, however, she does not tell him that she would not be able to respect their Dread Father if he were so incompetent to demand the blood of his loyal servants. She knows instinctively that such thoughts must never be spoken aloud.

"Good girl," Vicente replies softly, though he worries that she will not always find easy her future life as a member of the Black Hand. "I cannot have it on my conscience if our relationship hinders your progress. I owe that much to the Brotherhood. But you are wrong about one thing. It would hurt me greatly if my duties forced me to slay the most gifted daughter of the Night Mother."

The gentleness in his voice brightens Antoinetta's mood instantly, and her heart softens to his annoyingly inflexible self-denial. He once told her that he had hunted alone for a hundred years before he was recruited into the Brotherhood. Only with the children of Sithis, he found his true self valued and respected. What he feels towards the Brotherhood must be similar to her emotions towards Lucien. Perhaps if she could live as long as Vicente, she might come to think in the same manner.

"You better make love to me soon," she says with a cheeky grin, dying to see Vicente's expression. "Otherwise even Sithis would have to wait if he wished to have you at his side anytime soon."

* * *

Lucien smiles warmly at the Breton who is leaning against the wall, next to the front door of the West Weald Inn. The street is well-deserted by now, but Vicente wears his mask well, out of caution. There is no indication from his appearance that he is in fact a vampire. He just looks like the fine-looking youth he once was before he was stricken by vampirism. His cheeks are round and full, making a pleasant contrast to his deep, thoughtful eyes.  
"Is Antoinetta still on the road?"  
"She should be here in a couple of hours. I wasn't working my horse particularly hard. It will not be much good for her morale if the first thing you tell her is that we need moments alone without her. She took Maria's death rather hard."  
Lucien nods his understanding. From what Arabella told him, he suspected that Bellamont kept Maria's corpse in his hideout.

"I am eager to hear about how your mission went. But first, how did you manage to leave J'Ghasta inside the premise? I would have thought he wanted to hear about your findings in detail," Lucien asks, somewhat curious about the absence of a certain Khajiit.  
"I have told him that I felt rather peckish. He preferred to wait for your return inside," Vicente replies with a quiet smile, which Lucien reciprocates. "You are my Speaker, Lucien. It is proper for you to hear the report before anyone else. Besides, I do not wish to partake in you and J'Ghasta's discussion over the course of action hereafter. Just tell me what your decision will be, and I will do my utmost to fulfil any role you assign me to."  
It is this kind of consideration that Lucien values Vicente most, and he is glad that he didn't have to order the purification of his own sanctuary. The wise vampire's friendship and loyalty will be hard to replace.

"I am lucky to have you in my family," Lucien says with an honest air of appreciation. "Now tell me what evidence you have gathered in that wretched hideout of the little worm that we somehow called Brother."  
After giving an appropriate and concise description of what he saw in the hideous basement of the Anvil Lighthouse, Vicente hands Lucien Antoinetta's travel bag, which contains the severed head of Bellamont's mother.  
"I took his mother's life, but I would have never guessed how much he would treasure the result of my handiwork," Lucien responds with a sarcastic tone, frowning at the ill-preserved body part. Then with an imperceptible smile, while engaging Vicente into a conversation about Antoinetta's conduct throughout the mission, he slips out the roughly rolled diary of his enemy from his robe and places it inside the head. After all, it doesn't seem uncharacteristic of Bellamont to find a place for his journal of hatred in the head of his beloved mother.

"I am afraid that the Black Hand may need to visit the place themselves. The skull is all we could bring from that joyless place, and Bellamont makes a convincing actor," Vicente says with a concerned voice, after giving the account of Antoinetta's proficient actions during their mission.  
"Dear Brother, let us talk about this inside. J'Ghasta was looking forward to his reunion with you. The head may hold more secret than it lets out. We will need to examine it more carefully." Lucien stops himself from taking a step towards the door as he sees the hesitant look on Vicente's now blue eyes. "Is there anything else you want to discuss before we go in?"  
"What have you in mind for Antoinetta's future?"

Lucien realises what Vicente is asking and is rather surprised to find himself reluctant to give the right answer. He did intend to make Antoinetta his personal assassin. Arabella will never make a seasoned assassin that every Speaker needs to employ. Still, the thought of working with someone else so closely suddenly feels rather uncomfortable even though it is inevitable.  
"Do you think she is ready to be my Silencer?"  
"You know the answer yourself," Vicente replies, feeling rather taken aback by the look of apprehension on Lucien's face. It is true that Lucien is well aware of Antoinetta's fascination with her Speaker. But he would have thought Lucien knew how to make a devoted Silencer out of infatuated family members. Antoinetta isn't the first nor will be the last assassin who craves for the affection of their Speaker.

"We will talk about it once the crisis is over," Lucien says, briefly stroking Vicente's arm with his gloved hand. "She will be given ample opportunity to make use of her talent to further the glory of our Dread Father. Your judgment is rarely wrong."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Because J'Ghasta absolutely refused to examine the decaying skull in his room, which he prepared for a pleasant meeting over several bottles of fine wine and local delicacies, all three instead find themselves in Lucien's small single bed room.  
"I really can't see how a severed head can help us. That thing belongs to the ground, and the smell is quite unpleasant," J'Ghasta puts up one last protest, shaking his head hard in disbelief. "It looks worse than a zombie, and I am not used to living with creatures with rotting flesh. Hold on, what is that sticking out from the neck? It doesn't look like a bone."  
Vicente also notices the tip of the rolled up diary from the head Lucien holds carefully with both hands and volunteers to pull it out. If they have seen the gleam in Lucien's eyes, they would have merely thought it as an excitement of finding potential evidence.  
"It seems that Antoinetta and my journey was more fruitful than we initially thought," Vicente says with a wide grin, after quickly glancing though the contents of the journal. "The Hand cannot possibly refute his treachery after seeing this. Ungolim will certainly recognise the handwriting."

Lucien takes the diary from Vicente's hands and meticulously goes through the contents even though he can remember them word by word. A cold hatred ignites inside him as he forces himself to look at the words of conspiracy, written in blood. J'Ghasta follows each line with rapt interest, his head almost touching Lucien's.

"He is quite obsessed with you and our Lady, is he not?" the Khajiit Speaker comments, trying to see through his friend's impassive look. "One can almost feel sorry for the miserable rat if the obsession were not so derogative to its objects."  
"Indeed. It is gratifying to know that his life has evolved around mine. Devotion like that should not go unnoticed," Lucien replies, his tone openly betraying an icy contempt. "It is time for me to pay back his unwavering flattery."  
"Ah, we will reward him handsomely when we get hold of him. But first, we must find him before he turns the rest of the Black Hand against us or runs to the Imperial Region. Arquen will be more than happy to believe any story against you."

Vicente rises from his chair, making his resolve to leave the room before he hears more about the affairs of the Hand. It is best to know as little as possible about such business if one does not belong to the selected few. "Lucien, I shall be waiting downstairs for your further instruction. I will keep Antoinetta company till her Speaker is ready to see her."  
Both Speakers understand Vicente's sentiment well enough not to dissuade the vampire from leaving the room. But J'Ghasta certainly knows how to take advantage of the situation.  
"Dear Brother, you must promise to come and stay in my sanctuary for a while after we deal with this treachery. I'm sure Lucien will not object," the Bruma Speaker says with a winning smile.  
"Bruma's harsh weather appeals to me, dear Brother. I will be happy to visit you if my Speaker can spare me for a few days," responds Vicente, fondly reflecting the old days when both Lucien and J'Ghasta were his pupils.  
"Let's make it a few weeks." J'Ghasta, ever an opportunistic negotiator, seals the deal with an amused, if somewhat begrudging, nod from Lucien and a warm smile from Vicente. "Please wait for us in my room when Antoinetta joins you. Help yourselves to the food and drinks. We will not be long."

Once J'Ghasta is confident that Vicente is out of an ear shot, even with his exceptional hearing ability, he turns to Lucien and whispers. "To think that you might have been forced to sanction the slaying of Vicente. It would have been such a loss. Arquen really has little loyalty to her Brothers and Sisters."  
"Hopefully, Bellamont will take care of that small problem for us," Lucien replies evenly. "Seeing that we cannot do anything about her, without her attacking us first."  
"Aren't we hoping too much here? She would believe anything that he tells her. Why would he attempt to eliminate his puppet before he has you exactly where he wants?"  
"Do you think she will just try to hunt me down without involving Uvani? Bellamont should know that Ungolim's Silencer is not as impressionable as his hot-headed pet Arquen. Remember that he does not believe he has much time in his disposal. The only thing that will convince Uvani of my treachery is my perceived rival's death along with that of the Listener. This scenario is of course just one possibility, and we may end up having to deal with Arquen ourselves. Either way, it will be advantageous if we can reach Uvani before Bellamont does."

J'Ghasta scowls at the possibility of having to split their group. It is understandable that Lucien wants not to confront the Dunmer Silencer in battle. After all, they do not wish to lose too many high ranking Hand members. They reached that status for a reason and serve the Brotherhood better in life than in death. Regretfully, however, he has no intention to follow Lucien's suggestion if it means that he should risk his own life to save a Brother whom he has no particular affection for. Besides, Uvani has a suspicious nature and may refute even the traitor's diary as conclusive proof if he has not come across Bellamont's handwriting before. Only Ungolim will be able to settle the matter, but it is not likely that he is still alive.

The sceptical look of his friend tells Lucien exactly what is in the mind of the cautious Khajiit. He produces the sealed letter Arabella secured for him, a knowing smile playing on his lips.  
"This is the latest letter that Bellamont intended for the readership of Ulrich Leland. I have not seen the contents, but I have a pretty good guess as to what information it contains. I have not opened it because Uvani will know who uses this particular seal. All we have to do is to send Antoinetta to Bravil after a few hours' rest, with this letter and my personal message. She is clever enough to sense danger and will be instructed not to approach Uvani if he is seen with a male company. We ourselves will make our move once Vicente can travel with us. Now that we have an item he holds so dear to his little heart, it shouldn't be a challenge at all to track Bellamont down. Having Uvani aware of Bellamont's plot will be rather beneficial."

"How in the name of Sithis did you manage to obtain that?" Before Lucien has a chance to give the account he carefully prepared, J'Ghasta comes up with his own version. "Thieves' guild! You employed their service before the Hand meeting."  
Lucien nods, feeling rather relieved that he does not have to waste his time telling stories. Following a Breton covered in black robe and hood and stealing a letter from an unsuspecting messenger should not arouse keen interest from the Khajiit as to the identity of the thief.

"And I was so sure our Lady has competition for your dark heart," J'Ghasta shrugs his shoulder in gracious defeat. "I will let you have your way, Lucien. You better be right about your speculation with Bellamont's next move. I may even come to believe that Sithis works in mysterious ways."

* * *

Despite her heroic efforts to look composed, Antoinetta can hardly wipe a grin off her face. Not only does she have her two favourite men in the same room, but also she has been introduced to another member of the Black Hand. She feels special and important, and the occasion explains why she hasn't paid any attention to the food and drinks since the two Speakers came into the room. Sadly, her glory is short lived as Lucien decides to end the harmless flirting between Antoinetta and J'Ghasta and send her to bed. As his subtle manipulation of spells works on her ruthlessly, she finds it increasingly difficult to suppress a yawn. With heavy disappointment, she excuses herself and retires to her room that Vicente booked earlier. She barely makes it to the door but manages to smile before losing consciousness as Vicente's strong arms catch her just in time.

"You are an impossible bore, Lachance. I was just beginning to enjoy myself," J'Ghasta grumbles shortly after Antoinetta vacates the room. "The poor girl didn't even know what hit her. She looked rather embarrassed that she couldn't resist what she thought as an inconvenient and inappropriate tiredness."  
"I have no idea what you are talking about," Lucien brushes aside the complaint with the best innocent look he can conjure up. "She rode through the whole night. She is entitled to feel sleepy even in your presence. However, you may have my permission to flirt with her to your heart's content after Bellamont is dealt with. She certainly can look after herself."  
"Something tells me that I will have plenty of opportunity just to do that, and I will not even need your permission," replies J'Ghasta. "From your reports to the Hand, I know for certain that our Unholy Matron will soon answer my prayer that we have at least one amiable Hand member."

"Are you hinting that I should appoint her as my Silencer?"

"I'm surprised that you haven't taken that step yet. As much as I am fond of dear Havilstein, I would sleep with a zombie if I could have her as my Silencer. But it doesn't agree with me that your already overgrown ego gets another boost. The way things are developing, she is perhaps meant to become the youngest Speaker the Brotherhood ever had. There will be plenty of vacancies to fill once the storm is over."

The image of J'Ghasta caressing a zombie causes Lucien to momentarily lose concentration. When the meaning finally sinks in, he finds it difficult to outright ridicule such a possibility, though the idea has never occurred to him before. Perhaps, she may just be able to pull it off with Vicente's guidance if she doesn't manage to kill him through poisoning. Lucien is unsure of what role the Night Mother plans for her, and any of them for that matter, to fulfil when Bellamont is no more. One thing is certain. It will not be an expression of sarcasm when he calls her 'dear Sister'.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"There is a reason why you have difficulty in mastering the art of Illusion, J'Ghasta," says Lucien mockingly, seeing the puzzled look on his face. "You make it painfully obvious that you do not entirely agree with my instructions to Uvani. I have yet to hear about your misgivings."  
"Well, inform me then why you ask him to report the findings to Ungolim, who probably isn't even alive, instead of joining us in the hunt," replies the Khajiit, playing idly with his glass and thinking about ordering some more Tamika Vintage wine.  
"We do not know that for certain," says Lucien contemplatively. "Now that we have concrete evidence of the treachery, it is our duty to convey it to the head of the Black Hand. Uvani will know what he should do if Ungolim already fell victim to Bellamont's plot. He will send couriers to the three sanctuaries which are still in danger of being ambushed by the Imperial Region."

J'Ghasta nods grudgingly, though he believes Lucien thinks too much. Nothing is certain when it comes to Bellamont's next move. Ungolim, if his life were valued by the Night Mother, would certainly not be pleased about being left in the dark. His generosity will be likely to stretch only as far as acknowledging the urgency in dealing with the traitor. Besides, they must do all they can to keep the Brotherhood intact, in case Bellamont brings the Imperial Region into the play.

"So, how are we planning to spend our day? I will need a few hours' sleep as we won't get much rest during tonight," asks J'Ghasta, rubbing his hands gleefully. He loves hunting at night, and it will probably be the hunt of his life. While Lucien loves the meticulous planning part best, J'Ghasta's favourite part has always been the thrill of the actual chase. Assassins do not usually become assassins because they are blood crazed, and those who do tend to live a short life, with the exception of Arquen. Those who take great pleasure in seeing the red paint job would certainly be better off spending their time in the spectator area of the Arena. On this occasion, however, J'Ghasta is certain that he will enjoy spilling blood just as much.  
"I plan to obtain alchemical ingredients and brew helpful potions," replies Lucien, much to the dismay of the Bruma Speaker. "You and I will need them. I will not risk having you paralyzed needlessly. That would be rather … inconvenient."

"Don't tell me you are going to force me to drink that vile potion of yours. Ogre's Teeth! That's the foulest thing I've ever tasted," protests J'Ghasta, putting up an expression of mock horror. "I'm agile enough to dodge any spells thrown at me."  
"That particular component isn't disagreeable, taste wise. You must be objecting to the use of Tobacco. If it helps, I intend to use bloodgrass on this occasion," Lucien responds, thoroughly enjoying J'Ghasta's expression of genuine repulsion. He was rather young and less experienced in alchemy when he used Ogre's teeth for his alchemy practice. Like many enthusiasts without mastery of the art, he once believed that rare and expensive components would improve the end product. Those days were long gone, but he couldn't resist taunting his rather picky friend further. "As for your rather lame excuse, that potion you so abhor saved your life once, and you still owe me the words of gratitude."

The Khajiit lets out a low grumbling sound. The incident seems a lifetime ago, but the recollection of it still sends a chill down his spine. He was taught a lesson that he would never forget. _Never underestimate your mark._ Necromancers, however feeble they look, were and still remain powerful wizards. It was by sheer chance that Lucien was experimenting with his Anti-Paralysis potions and wanted a volunteer to try it. Lucien's potion wasn't picture-perfect at the time, but it gave J'Ghasta enough protection to complete the job, simply because the necromancer mistakenly believed that his spell had rendered the Khajiit completely immobile. In the end, J'Ghasta escaped with a few minor burns and scratches. Nevertheless, the experience put him off the idea of playing with his prey for good.

"You always pick up the best time to remind me of that unpleasant episode," complains the unhappy Speaker. "Fine, I will drink whatever you give me. Just make sure that I don't have to watch the process of you creating the darned potions. I don't want to know what you put in them."  
Lucien grins a little too triumphantly for J'Ghasta's liking before announcing his intention to go find Vicente, the mere mentioning of whose name brings back the excitement to the Khajiit's face. He could think of many pleasant subjects to converse with the vampire. It would be infinitely better than talking about or helping Lucien with his unappetizing alchemy experiments.

* * *

Arabella watches Lucien's figure silently, afraid of making any move and distracting him from his concentration with the rustling sound of sheets. Even from behind, she can sense how deeply absorbed he is in the task at hand. He has taken off his gauntlets, preferring the bare feel of raw ingredients at his fingertips. Arabella closes her eyes to picture the beautifully focused face. When she opens them again, she sees that same face looking down upon her.

"You can assist me if you want to," says a smiling voice. "Not that there is much left to do. The equipment will do the most of the work now. I can, however, do with a bit of company while I keep an eye on the progress."  
"How did you …?"  
"Know that you were awake? The same way I knew you were watching me and following me. Your gaze is intense when it is directed to me. It gives away your presence. I can only guess that your feelings towards Bellamont were rather detached. Otherwise, he too could have sensed something was wrong."

A quiet smile appears on her lips as she slips out of the bed and puts on a silk gown Lucien pulled out from her bag. _Detached_ is the exact description of her feelings towards most people, Bellamont included, though she cannot help but feel a small amount of sympathy towards him as well as repulsion. Perhaps that's why she is so good at the art of Illusion and Alteration. She does not believe in the concreteness of the real world. Yet, she craves for the sense of reality, which explains a lot about her hopeless obsession first with magic, then with Lucien. Even the barest touch from him is enough to allow her to feel the sense of gravity, without which she is a mere spirit floating in the air aimlessly. It is an incomprehensible irony as the man who makes her feel that way is a killer, who has no qualms about removing someone from the realm of reality.

"I thought we would head for Bravil this afternoon," Arabella enquires, somewhat curious, though happy, about the change of plan.  
That was indeed what Lucien originally planned, and the reason why he told her to meet him inside _All Things Alchemical_. J'Gasta's apprehension at leaving Vicente behind in order to get in touch with Uvani, however, made its revision desirable. An unwilling Khajiit does not make a powerful ally. Besides, Antoinetta, however good assassin she makes, is less suited to an all-out battle than Vicente, if that possibility is still unavoidable.  
"I cannot have everything my own way, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. I am looking forward to having a quiet meal with you."

Staring into the eyes that beam with delight, Lucien is rather thankful that J'Ghasta has no expertise or interest in alchemy. There are a few things he wanted to talk to Arabella about, and he has ample time for the chat. He leads her out of the room and down the stairs to the dining area, where he set up a table for a rather luxurious meal by his standard, courtesy of J'Ghasta, who had no idea why Lucien's appetite suddenly increased.

"You have a healthy appetite," Lucien comments, biting into an apple and smiling at the pile of berries and the big piece of cheese and leak pie Arabella placed on her plate. "Either that, or you probably don't eat as often as you should."  
"You sound like my father," says Arabella, savouring the fresh taste of strawberry inside her mouth. A flicker of image appears and dissolves, and the love that she didn't know how to appreciate wraps her in warmth.  
"Is that disagreeable?"  
"Not really. I wish I had the opportunity to know him better, or my mother for that matter," she says with a faint smile. Despite her uneasiness on the topic, she can, for once, picture them without a sense of regret and guilt.

"How long have you been without a family?" Lucien throws another question, after slowly finishing his apple to allow her to get on with her meal. The distinctive lack of sympathy in his tone makes her feel at ease with the topic she usually prefers staying away from.

"Nearly eighteen years," she gives her answer, which surprises herself more than it does Lucien. _Was it really that long ago? How quickly life slips us by,_ she thinks wearily. "It was on my twelfth birthday when I learned my parent's demise."

"And you haven't sought out having a family all those years? Even now?"

"It never occurred to me I should," she says playfully, cutting the remaining pie on her plate into smaller pieces. "How about you? Have you ever been without one?"

"Not for long. Soon after my biological parents decided to disown me, the Night Mother called me into her embrace. I loved the idea of having a family that I can feel a strong connection to," he answers as honestly as his memory allows. The life before the Brotherhood seems so distant and irrelevant now. "My father was a successful merchant who obtained a title of minor noble through marriage. We didn't have much in common, and his hope for raising me as a Warrior was dashed soon enough when I told him I had no interest in serving the Empire. After that, we became more and more distant. The first murder I committed provided adequate excuse for him to sever any ties with his … difficult son."

"Did he look like you?" Arabella cannot resist another question, even as she suspects it has no importance to him. Her plate is nearly empty now, and trivial questions are more acceptable during the meal time.

"I haven't thought about it. But if my dim memory is anything to go by, he did more than I or he would like to care for," Lucien admits without bitterness. He likes it that she doesn't enquire about his first kill, which was rather clumsy and based on a false promise of love. It could have been very easily his victim who earned the invitation to the Brotherhood. Then again, more than likely not. The Brotherhood has never been desperate enough to recruit someone who took life in self-defence.

"Arabella," he calls out softly, seeing her having finished her meal. "If we capture Bellamont alive, his death isn't going to be a pretty sight."

Arabella meets his deep gaze with understanding and fear. He cannot possibly leave her behind at this stage.

"I want to spare you from having to witness something that you would wish you never had."

"Let me follow you," she pleads with firm resolve. "Contrary to what you might think of me, I have seen many gruesome deaths. I understand that this is different, because I will be also responsible for his fate. But it will be better than wondering and not knowing how his life has ended. Please do not deny me my rightful place at a time like this. It will make me more miserable than you can ever imagine."

The resolute look on her face tells him how the twelve-old orphan girl has grown into a powerful mage.

"Stubborn girl," he says, lightly stroking her face with the back of his hand. "You make a better Silencer than you think."


	19. Chapter 19

A.N. If you think Lucien finally lost his cool head after reading this chapter, do blame me and my horrible cold. It's probably me who is not thinking straight. :(

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

Having spent the entire morning to get his robe repaired and purchase the strongest healing potions he could get hold of, Bellamont decides to find a quiet room in _Silverhome on the Water_ for a few hours' rest. Although the potions fixed any sign of injury from his appearance, his body is not yet strong enough to cast an effective Paralyze spell, without which he has little chance of beating Arquen. Unfortunately, Marz, the rumoured-to-be-best Healer in Brazil, isn't going to be available till four o'clock in the afternoon. He has no wishes to bump into Uvani at this stage, nor does he have the ability or inclination to stroll the depressing streets invisible for hours.

As he climbs up the stairs after receiving a key, Bellamont emits an angry snarl. Two Argonians are standing in his way, too submerged in the conversation to notice the Breton.  
"Move out of my way," he hisses, and the accompanying menacing glare immediately produces the desired effect.  
What Bellamont doesn't realize is that one of the men has just returned from Cheydinhal and was about to tell his friend the joyful event of Ulrich Leland's death. It may have changed his subsequent moves dramatically and saved his life, though it would certainly have cost him the joy of dreaming about a perfect revenge. His aura has frightened the men enough to leave the inn altogether in a hurry. Subsequently, he is left to indulge his dream and plan the next stage of his uncharacteristically risky plan. It should be an easy enough kill as an element of surprise will sway the outcome in his favour. It is therefore a way of making it pleasurable that mainly occupies his mind during his forced stay in the dinky room that is hardly worth the gold he had to part with.

After entertaining himself with various visions of Arquen's face twisted with pain and terror, he slips out of the minute room that gave him a few hours' well-earned rest to find some food at the bar. The innkeeper seems rather weary about his presence and provides the ordered food in no time, hoping for the earliest departure of the hooded stranger. Bellamont is in no mood for using a Charm spell, so lets the few regulars sit at their table like a bunch of frightened mice. Over the years, Bellamont has come to realise that his simple presence invokes fear and apprehension in the mind of the ordinary Tamriel citizens. They seem to have developed some kind of instinctive anxiety and dislike against him while he has progressed in ranks within the Brotherhood. As a result, he became more and more reliable on charm spells as a means of getting necessary information without attracting too much attention to himself. He is resentful of this change and hates Lachance all the more for it. His foe somehow seems to make himself acceptable, even attractive, to common people, without any use of magic. The world contains so little justice, and he intends to correct it.

Although Bellamont has every confidence that the Nine will accept him in their embrace, he does not trust those who claim to serve them. Therefore, he casts the Charm spell on every single head inside the Chapel before they have a chance to notice him. The spell does not affect Marz the Healer to suddenly adore the Breton. But it is effective enough to render her less suspicious and willing to offer services he is after in exchange for a bag of gold. The residual effects of Ungolim's parting present are finally worn off from his system, and he is ready to send another soul to the Void he despises.

* * *

The coloured light coming through stain glassed windows is growing dimmer as Lucien painstakingly cleans his alchemy equipment. Arabella slips into her shrouded armour, which J'Ghasta believes is one of the best creations by the Brotherhood. It suddenly strikes her how comfortable she feels in the protective clothing; it wraps her like a second skin. She wonders, for one brief moment, whether she was born to wear it; whether she was destined to find Lucien and become his shadow. Thinking about it, she never had the same feeling with mage's robes.

Lucien's arm encircles her waist as Arabella indulges herself in the idle questions that cannot be answered by any mortal. Only the Gods and Daedric Princes have the power to see the full working of the Fate, the complicated web of life and death, through which the primal energy of the Void flows faultlessly.

"It is nearly time," he says, turning her towards him with one hand and placing the other at the back of her head.

Arabella raises her hand to feel his cheek under her palm. It is surprisingly warm, and she understands the reason as she meets his stare. There is unmistakable child-like excitement glowing in those deep brown eyes. She ponders whether he always looks like this before making a kill.

"I am always like this before a hunt," he states as though reading her mind. "We are in this together, Silencer. You made that pretty clear to me. But when this is all over …"

Lucien inhales deeply and plants a soft kiss on her brow. This is going to be the most unselfish offer he would ever make to anyone. Yet, he somehow doesn't believe she will like the sound of it. Arabella waits for him to continue, wondering and fearing the worst.

"When the Brotherhood rids itself of the current trouble, I will be pressurised to appoint an official Silencer. My family will become suspicious if I delay that step too long. My problem is … I do not feel comfortable about making the move while you remain as my Silencer."

Arabella's face turns pale and the pain in her eyes tells him that freedom, even if the Night Mother approves of it, is not what she seeks from him. Lucien lets out a sigh of something close to relief. He didn't have to hurt her to relay his proposal to her. But he had to be sure of the depth of her desire to remain at his side.

"I am not letting you go, if that is what you are suspecting. The Night Mother will not allow it even if I wish to give your freedom back. Besides, I cannot be that selfless," he assures her, instantly bringing colour back to her cheeks. Only confusion clouds her face now. "You will continue to use your talent in helping me. Not as my Silencer, but as my Partner. What I am asking you is ... to marry me. I will not make an ideal husband, but I will honour my contract."

The scare she experienced a short while ago is enough for Arabella to suppress any reservation about marriage for convenience. She doesn't beam with happiness, but nods her consent nevertheless. Lucien smiles at her reaction and pulls her closer to him.

"You need not look so worried. I still haven't forgotten about your views on babies. I am not going to ask you to remove the metal ring that you placed inside you," he whispers, causing Arabella to smile brightly for a brief moment.

"Do you mean to give me Brothers and Sisters I never had?" she asks apprehensively. She has learned to make friends, but has no idea what she is supposed to do with siblings.

"They will not present themselves as such. It will give me hours of entertainment when my family pretend to be normal citizens of Tamriel. You will have to put up with them from time to time, especially one Khajiit named J'Ghasta."

* * *

Uvani hardly notices the Blonde girl at the bar, asking one of the customers about his very self, too occupied with his own trail of unwelcome thoughts. Ungolim did not answer the door, despite the fact that they were supposed to meet at the Listener's humble abode in the same morning. He was nowhere to be seen around the statue of their Unholy Matron in the evening. This uncharacteristic absence makes Uvani nervous especially when one of the Black Hand members was slain not so long ago and they are still in the dark concerning the identity of the assassin among assassins.

It is only when Antoinetta has cleared her throat for the third time, each time a little louder, he looks up with irritated glance towards the source of the voice. He is about to snap at her something unpleasant when he notices a black band on her middle finger. Without explanation, Antoinetta pulls a chair and sits across him. She has already seen the symbol of the Brotherhood on his finger.

"I believe you are a travelling merchant by the name of Alval Uvani," she says, with a friendly smile and a small bow.

"And you are?"

"Antoinetta Marie from the Cheydinhal House," she says, without being fazed by his rather inhospitable glare. She pulls out two sealed letters from her bag and places them on the table. "Lucien Lachance sent me to deliver these letters. He believes it is rather urgent that you read the contents. That is all I know."

Any other time, Uvani would have recognised her name and asked a few polite, albeit meaningless, questions about her journey. But his already troubled mind becomes even more so as he recognises two different seals and realises that one of them is definitely used by Bellamont. He does not notice how tired his Sister looks and simply waves his hand to dismiss her after the brief acknowledgement of her trouble, in order to examine the contents by himself. Any other time, Antoinetta would have been offended by such dismissive treatment. On this occasion, however, she is only eager to leave the high ranking Hand member alone. She believes that he will not open the letters in public.

Once inside a secluded room on the top floor, Uvani seats himself at the edge of the bed and breaks the seal of Lucien's letter. As he reads on, a faint smile appears on his hardened face. It is indeed just like Lachance, not taking any chance at Ungolim's trust on his word without concrete proof. Still, he finds it a slight shame that the urgency of the matter prevents his able self from taking a part in the hunt. Now that they have finally obtained the evidence to pin down the conspirator, Ungolim's mysterious absence doesn't seem so unsettling any more. Leisurely, he opens the other letter that requires his attention, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the crude map of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. With a deep frown etched on his brow, Uvani devours the traitor's words.

_I hope you are hungry for revenge, good Captain. The first hideout of the blood-crazed psychopaths I can reveal to your eager ears is in your locality. Be prepared, however. The rats inside the dungeon certainly know how to bite. Clear it out, and I will give you the rest of the information you crave for. Oh, I nearly forgot. Take a Smith with you. The well makes a pretty useful entrance._

The precaution Lucien and J'Ghasta took seems fully justified. Uvani decides that he doesn't have time to wait for Ungolim's reappearance. He will have to make it his priority to warn the remaining sanctuaries. Arquen will not thank him for it, but judging from her close alliance with Bellamont, she will do well to escape his claws.

As he quickens his steps into the rundown streets of Bravil, Uvani sees Antoinetta waiting for him outside the Lonely Suitor Lodge. Unlike the first time, he is relieved to see her face.

"Do you have a message for my Speaker, Sir?" she asks with a polite smile. The hint of smugness in her tone is so subtle that Uvani fails to notice.

"Tell him that I will wait for him in the Faregyl Inn once I have attended to the business at hand. He knows the location. It is not far from the Inn of Ill Omen," he says, managing to return the smile this time, as he finally remembers Lucien's report on the girl. "And do let him know that he has my full support. If he has to eliminate anyone stupid enough to fight alongside a certain snake, so be it."


	20. Chapter 20

A.N. Finally, we are approaching the conclusion of this fic. There will be only two or three chapters left after this one. Many thanks to everyone who have been reading and reviewing! 

Also a big hug to L'Ankou. I would have never attempted to start this fic without your encouragement and help. And your fic 'The Dark Ages II: Out of Elsweyr' has given me so much smile and laughter. ^_^ Hope it's going to continue long after 'Lucien's Shadow' is complete.

* * *

Chapter Twenty

The patience of Bellamont is severely tested once again as he finds Arquen's chamber in her summerhouse empty. Time seems to work against his master plan, and Bellamont contemplates an easier way of bringing down his enemies to their knees for one tempting moment. The cool air of the cave, though somewhat damp, however, helps him to keep his nerve. After what seems like eternity, faint footsteps approach him, and for the first time in his life he is truly glad to see the sight of Arquen.

"You have been waiting for me, dear Brother? What is wrong? You look rather pale."

_The chill spell is working just fine._ Bellamont laughs inwardly, careful not to betray his sentiment.

"Dear Sister, it is truly a sad day. The Brotherhood lost its Listener," says Bellamont grimly. A flash of delight appears in Arquen's cold eyes, despite her best efforts to look shocked and saddened at the news. Bellamont is not the only one celebrating Ungolim's demise in secret.

"If only Ungolim had the wisdom to see through Lachance's sham loyalty!" she exclaims, her mind racing through plans to organise a comprehensive search party for the traitor. "We must act swiftly to prevent the Black Hand from taking any more casualties. We must find J'Ghasta and Uvani before they too fall a victim."

"I believe it is essential that we act quickly," says Bellamont, pointing to the blank parchment and a quill at the nearby desk. "First, tell me the whereabouts of our Silencers. I will go and fetch them while you enlighten Uvani as to the treachery committed by Lachance. I believe only you can open the eyes of our unsuspecting Dunmer Brother. All I will need is your letter to Shaleez, informing her of the gravity of the situation."

Bellamont cannot believe how easy it is to manipulate Arquen. She hasn't even asked for the detailed account of Ungolim's death, which he has prepared just in case. After telling him all that he needs to find out, Arquen hastily writes a note to her Silencer, the contents of which Bellamont practically dictates through subtle hints and seemingly helpful suggestions. She does not suspect that the signing of the letter at hand will signal the beginning of her own end.

Her frown at suddenly finding Bellamont's glove on her arm freezes permanently as he yanks her head up and then forcefully brings it down to the edge of the desk. He smiles with satisfaction at the bloodied face, unsheathing his dagger.

"There are rumours," the Breton says, eyes glassy with lust for pain. He will not repeat the same mistake he made with Ungolim; he will not grant her an opportunity to recover from his spell. He says his brief words of farewell to her, before sinking his blade deep into her side. "They say you rather enjoy human entrails. Believe me when I tell you I so wanted to help you feast on Lachance. Unfortunately for both of us, that is not going to happen now. But I can still watch you swallow your favourite snack, the only thing fit for your pretty mouth."

* * *

"Where do you believe we are heading?" enquires J'Ghasta, his voice uncharacteristically loud as he desperately tries to be heard and overcome the yet-again-increased distance between himself and the other two ahead of him. Shadowmere can be irritatingly fast and has little regard for other horses. But he blames Lucien mostly for his plight. He is not paying enough attention to the fact that Vicente is not the only company he keeps for the night.

"It seems we are approaching Bravil," Lucien answers with a slightly apologetic tone – though J'Ghasta doubts its sincerity - after glancing over the sky as the Bruma Speaker's pitiable looking horse manages to catch up with Shadowmere. They have been travelling through the wilderness for hours, foregoing the relatively easy ride through the road to take a short cut to their unknown destination. A distant purple light leads the way; Vicente's Tracking spell has transformed the severed head into a thing of beauty and practicality.

"Just as we predicted," J'Ghasta comments contentedly. "Where do you think Antoinetta is, Lucien?"

"Probably sleeping inside the Bravil Chapel Undercroft or a deserted farm house if you are concerned about whether she managed to find a place for the night. She can be rather resourceful. It is, however, very good of you to show interest in the welfare of your Sister, J'Ghasta," replies the Imperial, feigning ignorance as to what was going through the Khajiit's mind.

"Don't make out that you are not interested in learning whether she is sleeping before or after finding Uvani," growls J'Ghasta. "It helps to know in advance exactly how many of the Hand members we have to face."

"Between Vicente and me, I am reasonably certain that we can manage to keep you alive and well." Lucien counters pleasantly, earning a killing glare that burns the right side of his face. "However, Shadowmere could do with fresh water and feed. If we happen to pass Bravil and find Vicente's horse in the stable, you are welcome to use that time to obtain the information that will put your mind at ease."

"Our mind," the Bruma Speaker corrects. "I hope you have been paying your family well, Lucien. She is not desperate enough to try the Undercroft, is she?"

"I believe she carries enough blankets with her to make herself comfortable anywhere," Vicente joins the conversation from above, with bemusement. He has a sneaky feeling that they may just find her in the Chapel Undercroft. "It is the safest place for her if Bellamont still happens to be in Bravil."

The vision of Antoinetta trying to slay the Chapel resident ghosts while casting a Soul Trap spell she has managed to learn only recently provides the vampire with a pleasing diversion from his uneasiness with the inevitability of having to deal with some of the Black Hand members. It is not likely that they will have a pleasant conversation with those who were caught by the web Bellamont spins so craftily.

"How long before we reach Bravil?" J'Ghasta asks, though it shouldn't be too long, as the state of his overworked horse gives him a fairly good indication. He doesn't want to appear frail by suggesting that they should take a rest.

"At most half an hour," Vicente assures the Khajiit, smiling at his former pupil's futile efforts to hide his discomfort. "Then, Brother, you and I will take a pleasant stroll in the deserted streets of Bravil."

* * *

The leisurely walk has done wonders for J'Ghasta's mood, along with the knowledge that the worst scenario faced is an open war against four Black Hand members; Uvani turned out to be wiser than what he gave the Dunmer credit for. Now that they even have Antoinetta back in the group, things seemed to have definitely improved. Except … the sunrise is only a couple of hours away, and they will be forced to find somewhere to shelter the vampire from the damaging effects of the sun. The tracking spell will not work during the day, in any case. It is not ideal since the likelihood of Bellamont finding out Ulrich's death and seeking the help of the Imperial Region will only increase as time goes by.

The same concern is what drives Lucien into a relentless ride, with little or no concern for his companions. He does not want to spend another day pondering over what Bellamont has done or is planning to do. The practical side of him, however, is well aware of the human and Khajiit shortcomings in the mastery of their physical needs as well as the danger of exposing Vicente to the sunlight. If they cannot catch up with Bellamont within an hour, they should make efforts to find a place for a decent rest.

"Do you remember Francois Motierre?" Vicente asks, after looking over his shoulder and seeing J'Ghasta and Antoinetta some distance behind.

"How can I forget? I've never seen anyone so desperate to be alive."

"Antoinetta confessed later that she so wanted to strangle Motierre. The contract or rather the reward did a wonderful job in teaching her the value of discipline. More importantly, however, that contract taught us the value of Languorwine."

Lucien smiles in appreciative understanding. The vampire must have poisoned a dagger with it in case he came across Bellamont before he joined Lucien.

"The situation is rather different now," continues Vicente, looking at his former pupil's face intently. "I wish to know for whom you may want it to be reserved."

"Shaleez," Lucien replies without a moment's hesitation. Shaleez's skills are a valuable asset to the Brotherhood, and Sithis will be better pleased with her continuing services than a satisfactory ending of Bellamont's life. "Silencers tend to develop a strong emotional bond with their Speakers. Fortunately, she doesn't have much love or respect for Arquen. She will be easier to rehabilitate than Belisarius."

* * *

_Stupid high elf._ The meagre amount of respect that Shaleez has kept for Arquen evaporates away with each line of the letter, swallowed like a bitter pill. What kind of Speaker would place her Silencer under someone else's command till the next time they meet? And for what? The letter seems to have been written in a hurry, and apart from a mere assertion that their honourable Listener has been murdered by Speaker Lachance, no solid evidence has been offered as a justification for hunting down and slaying a Black Hand member. And by the look on the faces of those who have barged into her private shelter, the death they are planning isn't going to be a pleasant one.

"Well?" Bellamont demands Shaleez's response, irritated by the time taken in contemplating the contents of the order that came from her direct superior.

Shaleez does not immediately look up in fear of showing her apprehension with the Breton. She feels no love for Bellamont; something about the Anvil Speaker she cannot quite put her finger on makes her sense an acidic vibration around him. She has never liked the close liaison between Arquen and Bellamont and wonders whether it is in fact Bellamont who is using Arquen to rise to the very top. The whole affair stings, and she cannot help but question what is behind Arquen's seemingly naïve trust of Bellamont. The word _Greed_ comes to mind, and she hopes dearly that particular trait of Arquen will be the end of her.

In the meantime, however, it is not her place to question Arquen's motive or that of Bellamont who takes a temporary charge on her course of action. She is not keen on ending the life of a Speaker who she believes represents the Night Mother better than her own Speaker. But conscience is not a welcoming asset for a Silencer, and disobeying an order from her immediate superior regrettably goes against the Tenets. The only thing she can do for Lucien Lachance is to give him a quick, clean death. Her enchanted sword should take well care of that.

"You have my service for now, as my Speaker made her intentions clear." All traces of regret are gone from her expression when she finally meets the impatient stare of Bellamont.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Much to the relief of Lucien and his companions, the tracking light finally stops moving. As they silently creep towards the now still light, they realize they have been approaching the entrance to either a mine or a cave.

"How many?" J'Ghasta asks wearily. He has a pretty good idea about the place and it is not promising news for himself.

"Three," replies Vicente, after casting a Detect Life spell that reaches the far corner of the space behind the wooden door. "Do we go in or wait outside?"

"This is the Flooded Mine." Lucien informs and exchanges meaningful glances with J'Ghasta. Both know Shaleez is hard to beat in underwater fighting. Worse, J'Ghasta cannot swim."They are not going to stay inside for long. When they come out, I have an idea that will help us to prevent Bellamont from running for his life."

After hearing out Lucien's plan with rapt attention, Vicente hands Antoinetta the dagger coated with Languorwine and moves to the allocated position near the entrance of Shaleez's hide-out.

"Are you sure, Speaker?" asks Antoinetta, lingering behind with a concerned look on her face. She does not like exposing Lucien as an open target to three skilled assassins. Even though J'Ghasta stands next to Lucien, she fears that they will all go for her Speaker.

"Antoinetta," Lucien responds, his voice firm like his brief touch on her shoulder. "You have never failed me and the Brotherhood and are not about to do so. I have faith in your ability just as I trust the skills and experiences of Vicente and J'Ghasta. Now, tend to your order. They are making their way out as we speak."

Antoinetta bows her understanding and makes her move. She can still feel Lucien's touch on her shoulder and wants to savour that sensation for one short moment. This is all she would ever get from him as far as their relationship goes. There was no sensual feel on that touch from his side. There is, however, no despair on her face because she always suspected the truth deep in her heart. It is time to let go of her hopeless longing, and a certain vampire will help her to do just that.

* * *

"Matthew, dear Brother. I never thought I would find you with Shaleez. And dear Bellisarius, too. I only wish Arquen were amongst you."

Bellamont can hardly believe his eyes as he stares at the owner of the familiar mocking voice that he wants to silence forever. Why Lucien is there hardly matters. He will find out soon enough during the process of killing.

"Be silent, stick close and attack the Khajiit next to the traitor when I give you the order," hisses Bellamont to Bellisarius and Shaleez. Lachance may outrun them in the open space, and once he gets to Shadowmere, they will lose him for a long time. He will not go back to his Fort. The distance between them is not close enough for him to throw his beloved Paralyze spell without risking a mis-hit.

"I was looking for you, dear Brother. We have much to discuss. You and I," Bellamont makes his reply, keeping the venom out of his voice and quickening his steps towards Lucien.

"Now," Bellamont shouts triumphantly as his spell hits Lachance squarely. He does not however hear what he expected, the rushed footsteps of his helpers. If he looked behind, he would have seen both Shaleez and Belisarius lying on the ground motionless, with smiling Vicente and Antoinetta next to them. He does not have time to evaluate the situation as Lucien's laughter, the sound he expected the least, forces him into action. Bellamont lunges at the Imperial Speaker with all his might. Only, he cannot make even that short distance; apart from the fact that Lucien elegantly vacated the space he was occupying, J'Ghasta's shock spell reaches him first. _Trapped and __Ambushed_. The realisation finally dawns on him. His hatred towards Lachance, the main source of his strength, proves to be his fatal weakness on this occasion. He should have realised that Lachance would not have come less than well-prepared. He should have been suspicious of his good fortune.

"Now what, dear Brother?" Lucien taunts his prey, his tone still pleasant as far as that of mocking can be. "You disappoint me, Bellamont. One would have thought a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood to be capable of a bit more imagination than you possess. Every step you have taken since the Hand meeting has been exactly how I predicted."

"How _we_ predicted," J'Ghasta interrupts, binding Bellamont's hands behind his back with a force that almost breaks his wrists.

"You were sceptical about my prediction concerning Arquen's fate," counters Lucien, smiling as Bellamont winces at the pain J'Ghasta has just inflicted. As he turns his attention back to the soon-to-be-former Anvil Speaker, Lucien sees the intense hatred in his enemy's eyes tainted by fear. The sight is pleasing enough to keep the Imperial in his continuing good mood. "Yes, you have performed a great service for the Brotherhood by dispatching Arquen. Sithis may not be too unkind to you as the Black Hand will become stronger thanks to your miscalculation. I only wish my family could be so generous."

"You will not have the pleasure to encounter me in the Void. You and your sordid kind know only darkness, but I will be returning to the light," retorts Bellamont, between laboured breaths of malice, misery and pain. It is the last words he utters since the ragged sounds irritate J'Ghasta enough for the Khajiit to slice Bellamont's throat with sharpened claws and distroy the vocal chords.

Still smiling, Lucien whispers. "Oh, really? Do not let down your mother more than you already have. Have you wondered how we tracked you down so quickly? Your mother led us here, desperate to be united with her son. She has been the cause of both your life and death, and I am the death for the both of you."

"This scheming rat is all yours unless Antoinetta desires to lend a helping hand, J'Ghasta. Just remember his last breath belongs to me. I will help Vicente to bury Bellisarius and move Shaleez back into her home. It is an ideal place for him to spend his day."

The pitiless gazes of J'ghasta and Antoinetta tells Bellamont in no uncertain terms that he will not see the beginning of another day. Reeling in the sense of humiliation and failure that hurts more than the physical pain he has been subject to, the only question that comes to Bellamont's mind is how long they are going to keep him alive. Perhaps, he deserves a slow, painful death. He has failed his mother.

"On second thoughts," Lucien says, turning towards J'Ghasta before making his way to the mine. "I will not need to witness his last breath. Kill him in any manner you like, but I advise you not to toy with him too long. It is already a dawn, and there may be a stray guard petrolling in this area. I will see you both at the Faregyl Inn. If it doesn't inconvenience you too much, dump his body somewhere away from here. I do not wish to land my eyes on this creature ever again, alive or dead."

The sunrise is merely an hour away, but it will be the longest wait of his life for Bellamont.

* * *

There isn't much to see in the dry part of the Flooded Mine. It is a rather dreary place for Vicente's refined taste. No books, no comfortable furniture, and not even a single bottle of wine. Shaleez must have been using the place solely for rest and storing any treasure she managed to loot from her victims. But the cool, moist air makes the vampire feel at home to some degree.

"I suppose it wouldn't be wise to revive her while you are here," states Vicente, laying Shaleez's limp form on the small bedroll.

"She would most certainly attack me on sight." Lucien's reply is rather absent-minded as his main concentration lies with the contents of Bellamont's travel bags and the satchel he is going through. He throws them along with the served head into a corner away from Vicente and casts a fire spell on the last reminder of Bellamont as he finally locates the replica of his enemy's diary. There is of course the original that he wishes to destroy, but it still has its uses. "It may be best if you show her the diary before she set her eyes on me once again. Uvani can see it afterwards, and of course so can our Listener if he still lives."

Lucien does not believe that Ungolim has survived the execution of Bellamont's plot. He ponders whether his relationship with the former Listener might have been different, had not Arquen and Bellamont worked so hard to cloud his mind with mistrust and suspicion against the most popular Speaker the Black Hand has ever produced. He wonders what kind of end Ungolim had met. It won't be long before he can see for himself the handicraft of Bellamont with Ungolim and Arquen. And he will see to it that Ungolim has a proper burial simply because the words of the Night Mother once graced the mer's pointed ears.

"Soon, it will be as though Bellamont has never lived,"Vicente murmurs musingly. He believes what goes through Lucien's mind is more like a relief than a joy at outsmarting and eliminating his enemy. Lucien's feelings towards Bellamont seem to be more of repulsion than hatred, now that he has defeated the slippery adversary. "It has been a long night. I suppose we could all benefit from a decent sleep."

"Yes," says Lucien, smiling at the distant, yet unmistakable sounds of water splashing. "And when you have rested enough, perhaps you can teach Antoinetta how to swim quietly. I fear she has grown fond of you. Perhaps I should come up with more missions so that two of you can be sent together. Tell her she can stay here with you and bring her to Bravil this evening. It is a unique opportunity for her to meet our Unholy Matron. I'm sure J'Ghasta can manage several hours on his own or with Uvani's company."

"Are you not planning to join them immediately?"

"I have some personal matters to attend before my wedding," Lucien replies, walking silently on water under the cloak of invisibility.

By the time Vicente recovers from the initial shock of hearing the unlikely event of Lucien's engagement and decides to probe further, the Imperial Speaker is already long gone. Instead, he finds a pair of mischievous blue eyes staring at him.


	22. Chapter 22

A.N. I had no intention of turning this fic into another romance when I started it. After a while, though, I tend to lose control over the storyline because the characters tend to write their own stories. I just hope I haven't assassinated the character Lucien because I really wanted to do the character justice.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two

The farmhouse that Lucien spotted in the middle of nowhere and persuaded the owner to rent it out till the same evening isn't exactly the Tiber Septim Hotel. The bedroom is rather small and untidy, but at least the owner provided a new set of bed sheets, kept just in case his stray wife returns. Lucien offered enough gold coins to tempt the farmer, the boost of whose meagre income erased any questions about the sanctity of his home.

Lucien casts a Detect Life spell just to make sure the farmer went back to the field to watch his sheep. When he turns to face Arabella, no words are spoken but she is certain that she will soon find out what it is to receive Lucien Lachance's undivided attention. It is exhilarating and exhausting at the same time. If the first physical intimacy they shared was rather raw, it was still well restrained on his part. This time, Lucien lets the control go and Arabella is left to deal with the unmitigated force of merciless desire that penetrates and slams inside her. By the time the hunger in his eyes dissipates into a glow of satisfaction, Arabella doesn't have much left to give except a smile of understanding and her own gratifications.

Though he is nearly as exhausted as Arabella, Lucien lets himself relish the feel of her hot, feverish skin for a few more moments and plants soft kisses on her neck and bare shoulder before taking his weight off her. Pleasant silence reigns as they lie side by side, each listening to the rhythmic cycles of the other's heartbeat.

"You are fast becoming my addiction," he says with a mock frown, carefully wrapping her in his arms. The scent of sweat and aftermath of lovemaking still lingers in the air, and he knows he will sleep sweetly.

Arabella believes this is perhaps the first and last time that she does not have to compete with the business of the Brotherhood for his attention. Unfortunately, so much of it will be allocated to sleep. She runs her fingers through his damp hair, drying it with a warm breeze that she commands effortlessly. "Is that good or bad?"

"Since you are addicted to me and have no option but to live with me, I have to say such an event is rather … desirable."

Lifting himself up slightly to hold her in his gaze, Lucien assumes a more serious tone. This will be the last time he will ever talk about Bellamont with her. Nevertheless, he does owe her this much, being unable to acknowledge to his family the credit she deserves for uncovering the traitor's plot and securing indisputable proof. "I am sorry for denying you the right to witness the very end of Bellamont. If it helps, I denied myself the same right, too."

Arabella does not try to turn her gaze away from him. A sudden relief hits her like an ocean wave that has passed the storm. His words remind her of the fact that Bellamont is finally free from the torturous life he made for himself. The Void may not be where he wanted to be but at least his suffering is now over. It wouldn't have made any difference to Bellamont's last journey whether she observed it or not. She only wishes an unsuspecting passer-by might give his lifeless body a burial he never granted his victims.

"I am just grateful that I have not failed you," she replies thoughtfully, forming a small smile on her lips. "And that he can no longer harm you."

"Not as much as I am," Lucien concludes, gently brushing her lips with his thumb.

Arabella is thankful for what Lucien didn't do with Bellamont and understands that it took more than just steely self-discipline for him to have resisted the urge to confirm the demise of his enemy with his very own eyes. She is starting to believe that he has developed a genuine regard for her. She will not however tell him these thoughts. It is better if the name of the former Anvil Speaker is never mentioned between them.

Closing her eyes and wrapping one arm around him, Arabella wonders what kind of dream he will have. She can predict all too well about her own. She has only ever had the same dream since she first set eyes on Lucien Lachance.

* * *

"So, how did it all end?" Vicente enquires, sipping a glass of Tamika Vintage wine Antoinetta brought with her. _Clever girl,_ he thinks with a smile. She certainly knows how to win a vampire's heart.

"J'Ghasta was generous enough to let me have the honour of ending the traitor's life. He said that it belonged to a current member of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary since we had to bear most of the damage Bellamont inflicted. I think I'm quite fond of the Khajiit Speaker. He is rather well-mannered."

Antoinetta takes a generous drink of her wine, thinking she can do with a bath. The water she swam through was rather mucky. She casts a sympathetic glance over Shaleez before turning her attention back to her favorite vampire and her account of Bellamont's death.

"I remember exactly which parts of Maria's body Bellamont assaulted. So, I gave him a little hello from Maria and an extra stab through the heart with a good twist just to make sure. I can understand, though, why Lucien left the miserable rat to me and J'Ghasta to deal with. I nearly left my glass dagger where it stuck. I was even tempted to throw away my guantlets and armour. It felt like they were tainted by unclean blood. Lucien probably didn't want to part with his beloved sword. Anyway, I suppose I could auction them to the highest bidder in the Sanctuary."

The gleeful expression on Antoinetta's face gives away to a rather melodramatic sigh as she becomes conscious of her sorry appearance. She looks across the water with a mournful gaze. At least, she had enough sense to leave most of her lugguage near the entrance. The question is how she is going to get her blankets and dry towels without having to suffer another traumatic swim. As she turns her eyes back to the vampire, her eyes light up; Vicente looks much composed and rather dry.

* * *

The afternoon sunlight pours in through the small window, bringing with it unwelcoming heat and brightness. Lucien stirs and wakes into the world where Bellamont is no more. Even though the heat makes him frown, he does not try to untangle himself from Arabella's tight grip. She has earned that much for herself.

There isn't much that he can think about the Brotherhood business till he joins Uvani and J'Ghasta. The future of their organization will very much depend on the Night Mother's choice in the Listener. He is certain, however, the Black Hand and the Brotherhood not only have survived the crisis but will also emerge stronger, regardless of whom their Unholy Matron plans to appoint in that prestigious position.

With eyes half closed, Lucien indulges himself in the idle planning of his incoming wedding. The Black Hand members will have to be informed of the event, preferably afterwards with the exception of J'Ghasta, who, if not invited, would probably declare the marriage void. Vicente can plausibly perform the ceremony in addition to serving as another useful witness. Luckily for himself, Arabella does not have a family, whose existence could complicate the whole process. There is no way that he will agree to going through a church wedding.

Lucien turns his gaze towards the sleeping form contentedly wrapped in his arms, his eyes catching the silver amulet she is wearing. The sight inevitably takes his mind to one important and difficult question; the wedding gift. He likes to be in control and does not like it when he feels lost. Unfortunately, this is one area where he doesn't wish to consult Arabella but knows that he doesn't have any other choice. Lucien very much doubts that either J'Ghasta or Vicente has dated anyone similar to Arabella, whose sole interest seems to lie in … himself. Apart from the fact that he loathes asking advice on private matters, their suggestions may well turn out to be a poor guidance. As for his own experience, he never felt any need to bestow gifts to anyone other than his former Silencers. In any case, the Black Hand usually looked after such matters.

Arabella's sleepy eyes finally open with an accompanying soft sigh as Lucien carefully separates himself from her grasp to get dressed.

"I wonder," he says with a quiet smile, "whether it is ever possible to leave your side without being noticed. It doesn't do much good for my confidence as a professional assassin."

"I hoped to wake up before you."

"So that you could watch me sleep?"

"So that I could shelter you from the intruding afternoon sun," Arabella replies, her palm stretched outwards in the direction of the small window.

The room suddenly darkens and cools. Lucien cannot believe his eyes when he realises that the window has just vanished, replaced by a solid wall. He will have to spend some time to find out what other things Arabella is capable of. Then, it occurs to him. She's never even tried to use a Charm spell on him, despite her exasperating desire to secure his affection.

"How good are you with Charm spells?"

"On occasions I had to use them, they never failed me in obtaining the information I wanted," replies Arabella with a slight smile. "I never used them on you because I didn't want turn into illusion the only reality that matters to me."

Lucien nods his understanding. He is her master only because she lets him. She could have easily changed their standing towards each other. Nevertheless, it remains true that she belongs to him and will protect him till the day she breathes her last breath. Perhaps, he doesn't deserve her devotion, but then emotions are rarely directed to deserving objects.

"If we were given a chance for another life, find me before the Night Mother," he says, a playful tone disguising the nature of his remarks, an apology.

"I would have hoped I would turn out rather sensible next time."

"You should be. I would be the reckless one."


End file.
